


Where love exists

by lslhnsn12



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Violence, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2018-12-25 04:37:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 53,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12028257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lslhnsn12/pseuds/lslhnsn12
Summary: "Where love and concord exist, there is no grief" Russian proverbAlayne lived a very simple, plain, and not so lonely life.  She had friends and books. She had the creative outlet of cooking.  She had money in her pocket and a roof over her head. Sansa would have been content to stay Alayne forever and she probably would have if Jon Snow hadn’t come to town.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am not entirely sure what I am doing here as this is my first fanfiction ever. 
> 
> I am not the owner of these characters nor am I making money off of this. GRRM is on both of those accounts. And I guess HBO. 
> 
> This will probably be a very slow process with infrequent updates because while I came up with the gist of this story, I don't actually have it fully plotted out. Additionally, it is unedited and therefore prone to mistakes in grammar, spelling (probably), and syntax with possibly fluctuating tenses. I beg your forgiveness.

The first time Ramsay hits her, she packs an overnight bag. She doesn't use it. Just packs it and stashes it in a closet he never opens. 

The sixth time he hits her, she upgrades to an escape bag. She keeps it to the bare necessities so it's easy to carry, so she can run faster. Two changes of clothes, extra underwear and socks, a few pictures, Rickon’s stuffed wolf, her mother’s combs, and the tiny bird statue Arya half-heartedly gave her the last Christmas she went home. 

When she finally runs he’s hit her more times than she can count, it’s a week before Christmas, and he’s broken her wrist. As soon as he leaves to meet “a friend” for a drink, she lugs a duffle bag full of mostly necessities and a box of valuables and cash down to a waiting cab. She knows enough to ditch all the credit cards, empty and close all her bank accounts, and leave the phone. She leaves behind all the clothes he bought her and all the jewelry he gave her when he was sorry. She leaves behind almost everything she owns, and certainly everything she had accumulated while living with him. 

She switches between taxis and trains on the off chance he has someone watching her. But he probably doesn’t have anyone watching her. She’s been so broken down for so long, for a moment there even she thought she’d never leave. But leave she does in one cab to the mall where she loses herself in the crowds. Then another from the mall to the train and the train to a bus to another train, a circuitous route until she makes it to the ferry positive that if anyone was following her at the beginning, they no longer were. 

She could easily go home. She knows her parents would probably welcome her back, but she burned so many bridges that she can't be sure and that'd be the second place he'd look. She could run to Robb but the last time they’d spoken, he had said some harsh things, angry things that she can't bear to admit might be true. Jeyne would house her and was near by, but Jeyne would also tell her family and he knew where Jeyne lived. He would look there first. Her mother had said if she ever need anything she could go to her Aunt Lysa and Uncle Petyr, but after the last time it seems ill advised. And Theon...well that was no longer an option. 

So instead she gets on a boat and disappears


	2. Alayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alayne Stone loved living on the fjord in October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing except the many grammatical mistakes that are not currently evident to my eyes. - 
> 
> I also know nothing about Norway but am fascinated by fjords. Please forgive my ignorance. I'm taking a real town I've never been to and turning it fictional.

Alayne Stone loved living on the fjord in October. She’d only been in Flam for two years, but it had quickly become her favorite month. The air was cool, crisp, and clean. She would wake up extra early and walk to work, stomping through wet grass and gravel with an enthusiasm she pretended she’d always had and a sturdy pair of boots. And on her walks, she would build and expand her backstory. 

Sansa created Alayne out of bits and pieces from people she used to know. Alayne was raised by a single mother like Jon Snow, Robb’s best friend, and loved sweet iced tea like Jeyne, was charming like Robb, devoured books like Bran. She laughed loudly like Margeary and told bad jokes like Uncle Benjen. She was kind but firm like Catelyn and told epic stories like Old Nan. And most important, she was always always brave and strong like Arya. Alayne was created from the very best parts of the very best people Sansa knew. 

Alayne moved into town two years ago on a whim. Her mother had died and she was looking for adventure. She hopped on the wrong ferry and landed here before she ran out of money. She was from the Riverlands and needed to get used to the cold. But she was always excited about new things and immediately fell in love with the town. That was Alayne’s story anyhow. 

And if anyone noticed Alayne flinched when men got too close to her or startled easily, they never mentioned it. And if anyone noticed inconsistencies in Alaynes past and stories, they never said anything. And if anyone noticed Alaynes roots were red and not that dull flat brown, well it's not polite to point that out. 

She so successfully played Alayne that sometimes she forgot she was once named Sansa Stark. But only sometimes. She was never so fully Alayne that she unpacked her bags or brought anyone home or spent the money she earned on things other than living expenses. She was never so fully Alayne that she didn’t have a backup/escape plan. 

Her only concession was Rickon’s birthday, once a year. She makes the prettiest postcard she could, make sure there was no way to trace it back to her town, and she would send him the card. The past two years the card always said the same thing:

“I’m alright. I love you. I miss you.” 

It was the only tie she allowed herself to home, to the Starks, to the person she used to be.

\-----------------------

She worked at a bed and breakfast near the shore owned by a retired sea captain, Davos Seaworth. He was a widower whose wife and sons became ill and died many years ago. He moved to town to escape their memories and ended up adopting a little girl, Shireen, after her parents joined a cult and disappeared. He opened the B&B because he wanted Shireen to have a stable life. He was gruff and kind, and Shireen was sweet and shy. They welcomed her into their little lives with no questions.

Alayne got the job a month after she moved there. Her wrist had finally healed, and the local doctor had taken off her cast. She had returned to the B&B stretching her fingers with glee and relief. Maybe it was because she never left her room that first week. Maybe it was because that first week she flinched when he came near. Maybe he had always wondered about her, a girl with a broken wrist and a full duffle bag. He was a smart man and as soon as her wrist was healed, he offered her the job. He was kind that way. And while Sansa had enough money to last a little longer, Alayne wouldn’t have that kind of money. So Alayne took the job, and she buried Sansa deep inside. 

She mostly cooked and cleaned. Davos never really seemed to care what she made so the menu reflected her moods and whatever produce was currently available. Because a lot of the produce came over the mountain, fresh fruit was scarce in the winter so she learned how to preserve and can fruits and vegetables. It wasn’t anything really fancy, but she was learning and their breakfast was the most popular in town. 

She became close to Shireen during that time. Shy little Shireen, whose parents had run off to the mountains and never returned, warmed to Alayne. The two would confer about meals and recipes. The kitchen at the B&B was warm and always full of their giggles. Cooking with Shireen was the highlight of her day. 

Davos never expected her to stay later than the dinner hour. He paid her in cash, asked no questions, and let her borrow books from the library he was accumulating. Winters were harsh and cold, and there wasn’t a lot to do so he kept ordering books and she kept reading them. He never seemed to mind her taking them home with her. But some evenings, she’d sit by the fire in the common room and read to Shireen and any children that stayed there. On those nights, Edric Storm would pick her up and drive her home. He was a little younger than her and shy. But Davos had asked him to drive her home one night, and every night she needed a ride, he always provided one.

Somehow, as Alayne, she accidentally built herself a little community in the fjord. She had friends here, people who cared about her, cared what happened to her. Davos and Edric made sure she was safe and comfortable. Shireen made her laugh. Brienne Tarth who brought the mail and produce over the mountain always had some sort of citrus for her. The fishermen always gave her first choice of their catch in exchange for a pastry or two. Mya, from the bar, dyed her hair for her and gossiped about the fjord hoppers. The people here were nice and she seemed to matter to them.

The first boy Sansa ever dated, Joffrey, expected her to be friends with his friends, and she had ended up alienating everyone but Jeyne. And Ramsay, well Ramsay made it a point to separate her from everyone - friends and family - until all that was left was him. And when she escaped him, she had been to ashamed and frightened to reach out to old friends and family. The men Sansa had known had made her so alone. But as Alayne in this small town isolated because of the mountains and water she wasn’t alone. And even if they didn’t know Sansa, they knew Alayne and they cared about Alayne. 

So Alayne lived a very simple, plain, and not so lonely life. She had friends and books. She had the creative outlet of cooking. She had money in her pocket and a roof over her head. Sansa would have been content to stay Alayne forever and she probably would have if Jon Snow hadn’t come to town.


	3. Jon Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow came to town mid-October on an incredibly ordinary afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Own nothing but grammatically mistakes. This has been edited only by me which means there are definitely mistakes. 
> 
> This is sort of a mix of books and TV but with a lot of ooc as well.

Jon Snow came to town mid-October on an incredibly ordinary afternoon. She had woken up after a movie night with Mya refreshed and energized. She was in the kitchen piping crème patisserie into the buns for skolebrod when Davos leaned into the kitchen to inform her of new guests.

“There’ll be another four for dinner tonight.” He said looking intently at the buns. “Owe Mya a favor, do ya?”

“She helped me out last night. We tried a different color.” Alayne sort of shook her hair, the tight braid in the back swishing to and fro. She’d dyed it a little darker this time per Mya’s advice. “Fall” Mya told her “means darker hair so embrace it.” Sansa hadn’t been ready for the pure black Mya was pushing, but she thought Alayne would be adventurous enough for a darker warmer brown. It was prettier than the color she’d chosen years ago out of desperation, and Mya said it made her blue eyes pop. Feeling pretty for the first time in a long time, she knew she had to thank Mya somehow. Nothing says thank you like a favorite dessert. 

“It looks lovely.” Davos told her solemnly though she knew he hadn’t noticed at all, more focused on the skolebrod. He nodded at the counter “Will you be saving one of those for me as well.” She laughed and winked at him. She always saved him one, but he always asked. Having worked there for a year, she had figured out the perfect amount to feed all the guests, ensure Davos and Shireen got a taste, and still be able to bribe the fishermen and hunters for their best.

“Four extra and just for dinner?” She looked back at the pastries as he murmured his assent. She thought quickly about what she’d bought that morning when she had stopped by the docks. “We don’t have enough fish. Grenn said it was a bad morning but that he and Pyp planned on going out again if the weather holds. I can go by his boat in an hour and see. He’ll want a coffee.” The front desk bell rang.

“Aye. And one of those. See if you can get a good deal.” He ducked out of the door and she could hear him greeting the new guests as he went. She put the buns in the oven and started on lunch.

\-------------------------

Armed with a mug of coffee and buns, Alayne set out towards the dock after lunch. The new guests hadn’t wanted lunch, Davos had told her, so no changes were necessary. The weather had held, it was nice out, and she hoped Grenn had gone out again. He and his partner Pyp were her favorite to buy from. They primarily fished, but would sell the occasional hare and deer. While she knew how to gut a fish, Alayne didn’t know how to butcher a deer so she preferred it when they fished. Neither Grenn nor Pyp was above bribery and Alayne was not above taking advantage of that. Hence the coffee. Whenever she stopped by their boat or they’d drop by the kitchen, she’d feed them. And in return, she got the best catch and first choice of wild hare, if she wanted it.

As she walked to the dock, she breathed in the cold air and paused to take in the sun. The days were getting shorter and she would miss the warmth soon. As she walked through town, a few people called out to her. Her hands full, she could only smile and nod at them. It wasn’t a long walk to the dock, but it was afternoon and there were more people stopping to talk than in the morning. As she neared the dock, she could hear the gruff and friendly voice of Grenn. 

“Pyp’ll be back in an hour. He’ll be glad to see you two.” He grinned at her as she stepped on the dock. “What’re you doing here, Alayne, and what’ve you brought me, then?”

“Skolebrod fresh from the oven. Don’t eat both. One of those is for Pyp. And I need some more fish, same as this morning. You go out again?” She handed him his coffee before turning to see his companions. There were two men with him. The round friendly faced man turned to greet her with a sweet shy smile. He had kind eyes but his dark-haired companion kept looking out at the water. There was something familiar in his profile and his tied back hair, but he didn’t turn to acknowledge her. She ignored the rudeness and smiled back at the round-faced man.

“Salmon, right? I have some here. Oh, Alayne, this here is Sam Tarly. He’s on loan from England, working with Norges Naturvernforbund on conservation methods. God knows they could learn a few things from us, eh? And this brooding fucker is Jon Snow. He used to come around here before you.”

She froze, arm extended out as Jon Snow turned towards them.

In all of her wildest dreams, and she had many over the past two years, she never imagined that she would be found by mistake by Jon Snow, the only friend of her brother’s she’d never gotten along with. She had imagined Ramsay finding her, woke up to those dreams panting and sweating, and twitchy for days. She had thought of Robb searching for her; their tearful reunion where all was forgiven. She had dreamed of Bran deciphering her postcards and seeking her out, how they would hug. She had never imagined Jon Snow. Blood pounding in her ears, she couldn’t hear what they were saying as he shook her hand quickly and efficiently, immediately turning back to the water.

“...you were looking for.” Grenn was talking. She had heard nothing of what he said, but he was holding a large fish up, grinning at her. She smiled back weakly and nodded. 

“... and they’ll be staying at Davos’. I told them you’ll take good care of them. Davos is a bit solemn and Shireen is just a little girl, I told them but Alayne’ll sort you out. Sam, I don't even know how long you're gonna be.You'll help 'em, won't ya, Alayne?” Grenn was still talking, shoving the bun in his mouth, custard spilling out. Sam didn’t see to mind, nodding along. She could feel her lips frozen in a parody of a smile. With a bit of effort, Alayne relaxed her face nodded. If that stay with her aunt and uncle had taught her how to lie and subdue reactions, then living with Ramsay had perfected it. She mentally folded her emotions into origami shapes and pushed them away. Those were Sansa emotions. She wasn’t Sansa here.

“Of course. It would be my pleasure.” She looked back at Sam who smiled back at her shyly. Jon didn’t turn back. “I’ll take this fish and get started. Thanks, Grenn. Enjoy your coffee. Don’t forget that bun is for Pyp. It was nice meeting you, Sam, Jon.” At his name, Jon’s head whipped towards her. He gave her a hard look.

“Do I know you?” His voice was rough as if he hadn't spoken in some time.

“No, I shouldn’t think so.” She looked steadily back at him. Now that the shock of seeing him was over, she was less worried. He hadn’t seen Sansa in years before she disappeared. How would he recognize her in this brunette in a little town in Norway? Sansa would never have moved to a small town. She arched an eyebrow when he continued to stare her down. “Unless you’re from the Riverlands too. I grew up there.” The best lies, her Uncle Petyr had told her start with a little truth. She spent enough time there as a child to almost have grown up there.

He shook his head but continued to watch her, his brow furrowed. She smiled, said goodbye, and calmly walked away.

She gave herself a minute when she returned to the kitchen. One minute to think about fate and what it meant to have Jon Snow here. Then she straightened her shoulder, went to the fridge for the rest of the fish. She could get a decent marinade on them if she started now. She gutted the fish.


	4. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s easy to avoid Jon Snow. Maybe it’s because Sansa had done it all her childhood that it’s like second nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still own nothing but my grammar issues and run on sentences. I also get no money for this.

It’s easy to avoid Jon Snow. Maybe it’s because Sansa had done it all her childhood that it’s like second nature. Or maybe it’s because she is so busy prepping for winter and Christmas. Maybe it’s because Alayne is already so private and sheltered that she rarely interacts with guests. Maybe it’s because he has a routine of sorts. Maybe it’s because he is more silent and sullen than he was in childhood. The reason doesn’t matter. She finds it so easy to avoid him that she becomes a little curious about him. 

Within days she knows his routine. He gets up in the morning, picks at his breakfast with Sam, and walks to the docks where spends much of his day staring out at the water while his dog roams the beach. (She avoids the dog too) He doesn’t come back for lunch. He picks at his dinner. He goes back to his room until the morning.

Sam, on the other hand, is busy. He eats breakfast and runs off to join Tormund G, the rep from Norges Naturvernforbund. Alayne knows Tormund in passing because of his friendship with Davos. Tormund is loud and brash. He is generous with his compliments to her food, and seems friendly with Sam and Jon. He waxes poetic about the strides Norges Naturvernforbund has made in conservation, teases Sam, and pokes at Jon. He and Sam disappear for hours into the mountains and return in time for dinner where he eats heartily and watches Jon. Alayne watches Tormund watch Jon. 

Sam’s wife Gilly and their toddler are also there. They spend the day wander around town and keeping an eye on Jon. This is what Gilly tells her one afternoon when little Sam wanders into the warm kitchen. Neither of them leave that afternoon. Everyone is looking out for Jon, and though Gilly is effusive and informative, she is surprisingly mum about Jon. In spite of this, or maybe because of that loyalty, Alayne likes her. 

After a week of watching Jon pick at his food, watching his friends covertly eye him, she can’t help herself. When they were very small, Sansa’s father would make a rabbit stew. It was the only thing he knew how to cook. Her mother normally provided the dinners. But sometimes he would make this stew. Her father knew Jon’s mother, though they never talked about how. He said she taught him how to make this stew, that it was an old rustic recipe from up North where no one really goes. When she died, he made it for Jon’s birthday and every year after. 

Obviously she can’t make the recipe exact, but she convinces Pyp to bring her some hare. She butchers everything herself. She’s careful not to overcook the rabbit or undercook the potatoes. She waits till almost the end to add the carrots and celery so they are a little crunchy. She serves it with an Irish bread Davos likes and makes an apple pie out of the last of the apples. It’s a warm meal, rustic and homey and not like her normal fares. She watches him eat two helpings and hides in the kitchen. 

She knows Sam tries to find her after, to thank her Davos says. But she ducks out early and hides in her apartment. Mya calls, but Alayne tells her she’s sick. She spends the night bundled up in bed, hugging Rickon’s wolf. She doesn’t cry though she wants to. She doesn’t cry because Alayne doesn’t have a father to cry over, a father who taught her how to make stew or who made it for an orphan boy. Sansa has that, but she isn’t Sansa anymore. So she doesn’t cry.

It’s harder to avoid Jon after that. But he starts eating again. 

\--------------------------------

Alayne doesn’t drink much, and Sansa only drank a little preferring to dance at clubs. But Mya likes to pull Alayne out of her hermitage one night a week. Sometimes Mya is nice, and they watch movies at her place, just the two of them. They pop popcorn and pick a random genre for that week. They watch two movies, and Alayne walks home alone. 

But sometimes Mya isn’t nice, and she pushes Alayne out of her comfort zone. Those nights they end up at the Royce’s pub. Alayne watches their drinks while Mya competes with Myranda Royce on who can get more phone numbers. The skiers love them. The couples look uncomfortable at first when Mya propositions them, but she’s gotten more numbers from couples than single men. Sometimes she goes home with them, and Alayne can escape early. Those nights she stops back at the B&B for a cup of cider with Davos. They sit in a peaceful silence until it gets too late, and Edric drives her home. 

Sansa used to flirt. Sansa would have been out there with the two of them using her red hair and her assets to get attention. But Sansa got the unwanted attention of Joffrey and her uncle and Ramsay. And that’s the kind of attention Alayne will never allow. So Alayne wears her baggy sweaters, toys with her plain dark hair, sips unenthusiastically at one warm lager, and quietly guards the drinks like Jeyne used to while Margaery and Sansa flirted. 

Jon and the Tarly’s had been there for two and a half weeks when Mya decided it was time to go out. Alayne was very knowledgeable about Jon’s schedule and knew he was more likely to lock himself in his room than venture out to one of the four bars in town so she felt comfortable saying ok. They’ve only been there for a half hour when Mya ditches her to flirt with a French couple. She’s in a corner alone when Tormund comes barrelling in. 

“A drink for my friend!” He pushes his way to the bar. “What’ll you have, Jon?” 

Alayne can’t hear the response, wedged in the corner where she is. Jon is much softer spoken than Tormund. As the bartender gets their drinks, she watches the moment Tormund sees her. His enthusiastic waving and beckoning makes her want to sink further in her seat, but she straightens her shoulders and shrugs at the drinks on her table. 

“Can we join ya, then?” Tormund sits down before she can answer, two drinks in his hands. “And how are ya, Alayne? I dinna expect to see you out of the kitchen. Thought Davos kept you locked up there, not that I’m complaining. Breakfast today. Mmm.” 

“You are too kind.” She tries hard to avoid Jon’s eyes, but she catches him watching her when she looks up and quickly away. She had been bumping into him more and more around the hotel. She was careful to avoid looking right at him there, but it was harder in a social setting. Sometimes she worried he was looking for her, their interactions becoming more frequent.

“And that rabbit stew you made the other day was fantastic. Jon sure loved it, dintya Jon.” His elbow is unsubtle. 

“Sure.” Jon clears his throat and tries to catch her eye. “Where’d you learn how to make that?” There’s something in his voice, a tone that she can’t quite decipher. 

“Internet. I find all my good recipes on the internet.” She sips a little more at her beer and peers wide eyed at him.

“Well, Alayne, I came to see if you were lonely, but it looks like you are doing just fine.” Myranda drawls before Jon can ask any follow up questions. “Hello there.” Her hand is massaging Jon’s bicep. Sansa remembers when girls used to flirt with teenage Jon. His whole face would flush, but adult Jon only arches an eyebrow, his face stone. 

“Would you like a seat?” He shifts up and motions to Myranda to sit. It’s Myranda’s face that has Alayne almost choking on her next sip and a laugh. Her face is one part swoon and two parts confused. Not many people resist her drawl. But in the confusion of Myranda sitting down and Jon standing, Pyp and Grenn arrive. Then Jon’s leaving to grab them all drinks and Myranda is practically on Grenn’s lap. It’s in that activity chaos that Alayne is afforded a moment to slip out and away.

When she steps outside its to find Jon’s dog lurking by the door. She’s startled and a little taken aback when he moves right up to her. She crouches down and reaches out her fingers. He slinks forward, cautious and shy to sniff at her fingers. Reaching slowly upwards, she rubs around his ears and he squeezes in closer. When he was just a puppy, he had been quiet and solemn in his quest for love. More graceful than other puppies, he would slink up to her siblings, Rickon especially, and wedge himself carefully wherever he could fit. He was silent and careful like Jon. 

“Hello brother wolf. Hello Ghost” she whispers in his ears the way Rickon would when they were both little puppies. Rickon’s obsession with wolves had him hugging every big dog in sight, a habit that terrified their mother and entertained their father. 

“Our family crest is a wolf” their father would tell them. “We are a pack, connected and united.” Rickon took it to heart, half wild and convinced he was a wolf. He must be so tall now. Ghost pushes in closer and closer until she almost falls over. As she catches herself, she hears the click of a lighter, and sees Jon in the light. His gray eyes watching her.


	5. Alayne and Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon had found her an hour later, still crying. He had been looking for Arya, having always been closer to her, but found Sansa instead. He was kind and gentle, so instead of running off, he wrapped her up in his coat, and sighed her name with a mixture of pity and reproach. When he lights his cigarette and says Alayne, it sounds the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing except the mistakes.

When Sansa was twelve, she and Arya got into a huge screaming match. She can’t remember what started it, but they were always fighting so it could have been anything. Arya accused her of being stuck up and selfish. She told Arya that no one liked her because she was rude and ugly. They both ran off and she ended up crying in Bran’s treehouse in the back. Jon had found her an hour later, still crying. He had been looking for Arya, having always been closer to her, but found Sansa instead. He was kind and gentle, so instead of running off, he wrapped her up in his coat, and sighed her name with a mixture of pity and reproach. When he lights his cigarette and says Alayne, it sounds the same. 

As she stands, he offers her the coat she left inside when she rushed off. Ghost whines a little and presses his snout against her hand. She runs her fingers over his soft white fur, scratches behind his ears and looks steadily back at Jon. She can’t read him. 

“Your dog.” It’s not really a question. And they both know that answer so it’s really just lip service at this point, an attempt to get back in control. It’s a clear night, the northern lights visible and bright. She can hear music and laughter from the bar, almost feel the warmth from inside, see Jon’s familiar face. Her worlds are mixing. She shivers a little. Jon is silent, but Ghost whines before leaving her side to approach his owner. 

“You leaving?” He gives Ghost a quick pat. She shakes her head. She’s saved from having to actually answer by Mya sticking her head outside.

“There you are, Alayne. I thought you might have snuck off…” Despite a desire to push Alayne out of her comfort zone, Mya could get protective of her, and the way she was eyeing Jon spoke of that concern. “Come inside, I can’t wait for you to meet Jean and Elise. They’re from Paris.” and with that, Mya dragged Alayne away. 

Alayne stays another hour, chatting with the French couple and Mya, watching Myranda flirt with Tormund, and sipping another beer all the while feeling Jon’s eyes on her. He's across the room with Sam nursing his own beer. She tries to discreetly watch him, but if the elbows Mya keeps giving her are any indication, she is not actually discrete. He doesn't attempt discretion and instead sits in a corner facing her. She pretends she doesn't notice. 

She can't help but notice her unofficial companion on her walk home, his white fur a beacon in the night. Every time she looks back, he is trailing her fluffy tail wagging upon seeing her face. As soon as she is safely inside, he disappears. He isn’t there in the morning, but Jon is. 

“Good morning,” he says as he hands here a thermos of coffee. “Davos told me you head out the boats this time of the morning. I thought I’d tag along.” 

“He told you where I live?” she asks sharply. It isn’t like Davos to give out her personal information like that. He doesn’t know she knows Jon. She is surprised by how hurt she feels. She should know better than to expect anyone to look out of her. 

“No. Ghost showed me. I implied we agreed to meet at the docks. He let me use the coffee maker.” His smile is a brief shy thing, there and gone in the matter of a second. “I don’t think he knows how to use it.”

“He doesn’t.” She is relieved and ashamed. Relieved that she was right about Davos - he’d never share her information. And ashamed that for a moment, she believed he had. “Where is Ghost?” There’s no point in pretending she doesn’t know who Jon is or Ghost for that matter. 

“He likes to wander in the mornings. We don’t really sleep much anymore.” He starts walking. Despite being taller than him, she has to jog a little to catch up. He slows down a little. There is a slight frost on the ground. She hears the grass crunch beneath her feet, feels the brisk air against her cheeks, breathes out in puffs. Her hands are warm and snug around the thermos. It’s the kind of morning she loves the most. 

“This isn’t what I imagined,” he says after some silence. “When I imagined you at all. A town like this, I mean. I never thought you’d live somewhere like this.” He goes silent again. She sips her coffee. It’s made exactly the way Sansa liked it, a little sweet and creamy. It’s like a treat she hasn’t had in a long time. Alayne drinks her coffee with a only a tiny splash of milk but no sugar. She isn’t sure how he remembered her drink so well. 

“You thought of me?” she can’t hide the surprised crack in her voice. He looks at her. His face is blank but his voice is both earnest and angry. 

“Aye. We all did. We all wondered where you were. Arya looked for you, you know. We all did. Robb was distraught. Your mother a mess. Did you, do you, think of any of them?” 

“I” She pauses. What can she say? That she thinks of them at night? That she was scared to come back? That she’s scared he’s already told them where she is because she’s selfish and scared and not brave enough to face anything yet, maybe ever?

“Sansa” he stops her. His voice is again soft and warm like he knows what she isn't saying.

“Alayne. I go by Alayne here.” At least with this, she is firm.

“Alayne, then. No one knows where you are. I didn’t tell anyone. I can’t promise I won’t tell anyone, but I have to know why I’m not telling anyone. Your mother misses you. Your family misses you.”

It isn’t an oversight that he doesn’t include himself in his earnest plea towards her. When his mother died and he moved in with them until he turned eighteen, Sansa had made it very clear that he was not her family. They had nothing in common, and he had the attention of the rest of her family, mother excluded. Then that last Christmas she was home, after her fight with Robb, Jon had tried to comfort her. And to repay his kindness, she had lashed out at him with sharp words that could sting and wound. She went after his weaknesses and insecurities because she couldn’t exploit Robbs. Because at the end of the day, she couldn’t bear to hurt Robb but she felt the compulsion to hurt someone. And Jon let her. 

And now here he was, walking with her towards the docks, bringing her coffee and asking for her secrets.

“Don’t tell them.” she finally says. “I’ll tell you everything, but not right now. Not today. Just” she pauses. “Just don’t tell them where I am. Not yet.” Maybe not ever, she thinks. He nods. They walk in silence the rest of the way. 

\------------

Jon takes to picking her up every morning, a thermos of coffee in his hands, and Ghost walks her back home at night. It becomes a common sight in town, the three of them. So common that Mya starts ribbing her about him, asking what he's like in bed, asking if he's courting her. And then she laughs at the startled faces Alayne makes. It's moments like these, when Mya teases her or Myranda makes snide slightly jealous remarks that Sansa slips out and tartly responds that there is nothing going on with Jon Snow. But no one believes her, not when they spend so much time together and not when she is almost relaxed around him. She can't tell them that she knows him, that she trusts him, that he would never hurt her because they would wonder how she knows that. It's hard to be Alayne when he is around. It was so easy before when home was a vague notion, a memory far away. 

Although he reminds her of home, the Jon that walks with her daily is not the same Jon that she grew up with. Yes, he's still quiet and kind, but not as sullen. He lapses into silent moods, but they feel more contemplative than angsty. He takes a little longer to respond when he thinks things through. The first day they walk in a companionable silence that she has no desire to fill. She sneaks glances at him and sips on her coffee. The second day he starts talking, tells her about meeting Sam when they joined a militant environmentalist group. The third day he tells her how Sam and Gilly met, and how they left the group, dragging Jon with them. He tells her about working with the government, working with Sam. He tells her only the good things.

So she does the same thing. She tells him about Davos and Shireen, about baking and learning to cook. She tells him about Mya and the first time they dyed her hair together, about movie nights, and reading to the children. She tells him about her first Christmas here and the scarf Shireen knit her. How Davos and Shireen made her feel welcome and loved. She talks about learning to knit. She tells him only the good things. 

They don’t talk about what brought him here. They don’t talk about what brought her here. They don’t talk about a lot of things. 

Their morning ritual turns into a morning and afternoon ritual. It starts when Jon wanders into her kitchen with Gilly and Little Sam. Little Sam is fond of her and Gilly leaves him with Alayne when she needs to run errands. At first it was awkward since she works in a kitchen, but she liked having Little Sam there, and Davos didn't seem to mind. When Jon stays one day, she is inspired to make cookies. Something in the air or the way he was looking at her reminds her of one of his first holidays with them. 

"Do you remember when Arya tried to make these for you?" She asks as she helps Little Sam roll out the dough. Jon is on the other side of the counter trying to roll out his dough.

"Aye. It was your mother's recipe, wasn't it? Robb would always steal some when your mother made them and stashed them in my bag because she'd never look there. Arya realized how much I liked them and wanted me to have some for Christmas." He looks up. "She forgot to add the sugar and mixed up a few ingredients." He smiles. "Didn't you end up..."

"Yes. She blackmailed me into making them for you. But then you, and Robb, and-and Theon" she says with Theon's name in a rush "had that contest over who could eat the most." He starts laughing. "Mother was so angry because all three of you got sick."

"You took care of us, though you didn't want to because Robb promised to take you ice skating." he stops rolling the dough. "Sansa, he misses you." 

"It's Alayne." She interrupts him. "Here sweetheart," she says as she hands Little Sam a cookie cutter and lets him go at it. "You're doing that all wrong, Jon." She walks over to his side and hip bumps him out of the way to take over the rolling. "You have to do it this way." She looks up. He's watching her.

"I'm sorry." he says. "You don't really look like and Alayne to me. If it wasn't for the hair, I'd forget completely." His face goes soft for a moment and almost as if he doesn't realize he's doing it, his hand reaches up towards her face. She flinches automatically and his hand drops. His face goes hard and blank. "Sorry. I'm so..."

"Jon! Jon!" Sam bursts into the kitchen as Jon scrambles away from her. "I figured it out! Tormund was showing me....Oh, Alayne and Little Sam." Sam lowers the hand he was waving around and shuffles a little. "Gilly said you were here, Jon. I didn't realize you were helping Alayne out. Could I..." he clears his through. "Could I borrow you for a tick?" And before Sam can finish his thought, Jon is nodding and dusting off his clothes.

"I'll let you get to it," he says looking anywhere but at her "Alayne. Thank you for letting me join you two." And he's out the door without a backward look. Sam smiles sheepishly at Alayne and goes to say something, but instead turns and rushes out after Jon. 

"Oh, Little Sam!" Alayne says as she turns back to find him throwing the dough on the ground and giggling.

She doesn't see Jon the next day, but she can't seem to go anywhere without tripping over Ghost. Davos draws a line at the dog in the kitchen, and Ghost spends the better part of the day whining at the entrance. She makes excuses to leave the kitchen and pet him, and everyone ends up eating sandwiches. The following day Jon is back.

“They’ll be heading back soon,” he says while she is making lunch. “Sam and Gilly.” He clarifies. 

“Hmm.” she hands him a bowl of soup before ladling out the rest into a pretty service bowl. “Hold that thought.” She pops into the dining area. Most of their guests had hopped on the Flam train to tour some of the smaller towns nearby. Those that were sticking around for the day wanted a light fare. She left the tray on the credenza and returned to the kitchen. Jon was still sitting at the counter, bowl untouched.

“I was thinking of staying,” he says immediately upon her return. He was looking down at his spoon. “Would you, I mean do you mind if I stayed?” He finally looks up at her. “We aren’t, we never were close. But I like it here.” he clears his throat. “I’ve been here before. Did Tormund tell you? I used to come here with..." He coughs. "I had forgotten what it was like.” 

She shakes her head. 

“I don’t...” She starts to say when Davos sticks his head into the kitchen. 

“There’s someone on the phone for you, Jon.” if Davos is surprised by Jon’s presence in the kitchen, he doesn’t show it. “Said they needed to talk to you. If you’d like to take it in my office, you can.” 

“Jon.” she says as he turned to leave. “I don’t mind if you stay.” 

His smile, that brief fleeting quirk of lips, is the last thing she sees as the door closes behind him.


	6. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before she can second-guess herself, she slips her hand into his and gives it a quick squeeze. He doesn't say anything else, but curls his fingers around hers and doesn’t let go until they get to the dock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I own nothing. 
> 
> And there is a possibility that this chapter was posted a little rushed so please bear with me and my mistakes.

Jon doesn’t return from the phone call, but Alayne gets so busy that at first, she doesn’t even notice. When he doesn’t return for dinner and isn’t there with Ghost to pick her up the next morning, she begins to worry. She asks Davos about the phone call and gets a curious look. He tells her it was a woman, but that’s all he knows. 

Two days after the phone call Jon is waiting for her again in the morning. He is tense and sullen, holding the thermos. She finds, for the first time, the need to fill the silence as they walk to the docks. She sips her coffee and starts telling him about dyeing her hair for the first time during her last semester of high school after she had finally broken up with Joffrey. She wanted to be blond, and Jeyne claimed she knew how to dye hair. Midway through her story, his jaw loosens up. 

“I remember,” he says when she begins to mention the fit her mother threw. “Your mother was angry but also trying not to laugh. You and Jeyne were shite at dyeing. You had those weird red streaks.” 

“I looked awful. Arya wouldn’t stop laughing at me. And Mother wouldn’t let me re-dye it for a week until I begged her. I had to wear all those hats.” She peeks over and smiles at him. It’s getting colder and busier. Although November has the same crisp air as October, it never feels the same. And it certainly isn’t as exciting as December and the holidays. But walking with Jon, November isn’t so bad, she thinks to herself. 

“My aunt called.” He says unexpectedly. “The other day. It was my aunt. I didn’t even know I had an aunt until last year.” He doesn’t look at her, keeping his face forward. She doesn’t respond. “I don’t think I can be what she wants me to be.” 

Before she can second-guess herself, she slips her hand into his and gives it a quick squeeze. He doesn't say anything else, but curls his fingers around hers and doesn’t let go until they get to the dock. 

\-------------

There is something about Jon being here and this tentative friendship they have, that gives her odd bouts of courage. And she knows it keeps throwing everyone around her for a loop. For so long she has held herself away from people, never letting anyone too close. But in their eyes, it's only been a month and here she is, letting his dog walk her home, letting him into her kitchen when before only Shireen and Davos were allowed. She even invites him to join her and Mya at the bar. Everyone in town knows by the next day because Miranda loves to gossip and he spent the entire time glued to her side. And she invites him on movie night, something private to only Mya who says nothing but spends the night giving her increasingly obvious looks. If Jon notices, he pretends he doesn’t and concentrates on the film. For her part, Alayne shovels popcorn in her mouth and burrows deeper in her oversized sweater. But she can’t ignore the comments Mya makes the next day when she stops in for coffee. Or the way Ghost still hovers outside the kitchen door and everyone has to step over him. 

“He’s nice, that Jon Snow of yours” Mya is innocently toying with the carefully labeled dog treats Alayne made that morning. She is sipping her tea and picking at a scone. 

“He’s not my Jon Snow,” Alayne tells her huffily. “He’s just Jon Snow. And yes. He is nice.” She takes the treats away from Mya and changes the subject. “Have you heard from that French couple that said they wanted to fly you to Paris?” It's not a subtle subject change, but Mya doesn't call her on it. And on her way out, Mya grabs a treat and pointedly gives one to Ghost.

Mya’s inquiries are nothing compared to the loud teasing of Tormund and the awkward proddings of Sam. They both find reasons to burst into the kitchen where Alayne puts Jon to work. When he joins her in the kitchen, and it's just the two of them, it feels a little like before. Before her uncle, before Ramsay, before she isolated herself from her family. She may not have been close to him back then, but there is a familiarity in the way they move about each other. Jon must feel it too because he slips up often, calling her Sansa. And while it’s sometimes nice to remember Sansa, she corrects him every time. But she panics when he slips up in front of others. 

“I’ve been looking for ye, Jon” Tormund pushes his way past the huddled form of Ghost in front of the door “Never thought I’d find you here instead of brooding at the water. A good place for ya. Looking quite pretty in that apron. Pink is definitely your color.”

“Sans..” he starts one day when Tormund is asking what he is doing. She gives him a quick look. He clears his throat. “Alayne asked me to cut up the carrots for dinner tonight. She keeps bribing me with tea. And I like the pink.” He shoots a small smile at Alayne, but she can only frown in return. They are lucky Tormund is oblivious. 

“Jon is a fantastic sous chef.” She says tartly. “Here Tormund, either take a muffin and get out of my kitchen or put on the purple apron and help Jon.” If Tormund is surprised at her tone, he doesn’t show it. He takes the muffin and leaves.

“You have to be more careful, Jon.” She says. “And the carrots need to be smaller to fit into the pot pies. You don’t want anyone to choke, do you?” She hands him another knife and ignores his apologetic looks. There’s nothing to be done. He slipped up and they move on. 

The B&B starts really filling up mid-November. Sam and Gilly pack up to leave and Alayne finds out that they had only booked rooms until then. 

“You mean Jon doesn't have a room anymore” she interrupts Davos one night when he and Sam are talking at the front desk. She doesn’t mean for the audience but her surprised exclamation grabs Tormund and Jon's attention as they are coming in from walking Ghost. “Why didn't you tell me?” she turns to Jon.

“It's not a big deal,” he says taking off his coat. Ghost has already bound up to her, tail wagging, cold snout pressed against her leg. “Tormund was saying I could stay with him in or Pyp and Grenn offered a couch.”

Everyone is openly watching them at this moment, but she doesn't care. At some point having Jon Snow as part of her day has become routine, has become a favorite moment like baking with Shireen or the quiet time with Davos or movies with mya and she is loath to lose it. She takes very little pleasure for herself. She just wants these small things. 

“Don't be absurd. Tormund lives in Aulandsvangen and Grenn is allergic to fur. What are you going to do, make Ghost sleep outside?” She reaches down to stroke Ghosts ears. “You can both stay with me.”

Sam and Tormund are grinning at this point and Jon looks resigned but pleased. Davos says nothing.

“Are you sure, San... Alayne? Ghost sheds a lot.” 

“Of course. Don't be stupid Jon. I can borrow a blowup mattress from Mya. I have plenty of space. And Ghost likes me best. Now I made hot cider and crullers for the new guests. I need one of you to come carry the pot for me.” She flounces off, Ghost and Tormund trailing her.

“It's good what ya do,” Tormund tells her earnestly as he carries the cider to the dining area. “He’s been living these past weeks. Not just functioning. After Ygritte I wasn't sure he'd be himself again. You know?”

She smiles and nods, pretends she knows what he’s talking about, pretends she knows who Ygritte is and what happened. He gets distracted by the crullers and the new guests, and she slips away to the kitchen to find Davos washing dishes and Ghost gone. She grabs a cloth and begins to dry. They wash and dry in silence for awhile. 

“I never asked because it's not my business,” he says looking out the window above the sink. “I never asked because I'm afraid of the answer, because I've got my suspicions, and because when you're here I have a second daughter, and I'd rather you stay safe and silent than tell me and run. But now, this Jon Snow. He knows you from before, doesn't he? Don't answer that. Just answer this, are you safe with him?” He turns off the water and looks at her. 

“Yes." She says, throat catching. "Davos, Jon is Jon. He’ll keep me safe. I trust him” she tentatively reaches out her arms and wraps them around him. He is stiff for a moment, cautious before returning it with equal gentleness. She's hugged Shireen before. Hugged Mya. But Davos has always been respectful of her boundaries and never really touched her, has in fact stopped guests from getting too close to her especially at the beginning. Those casual touches that people don't think of, brushing shoulders or squeezing an arm, patting a hand or touching a back, he had protected her from in his own way. 

Davos is warm and kind, and for a moment Alayne is content to be there.


	7. A start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s only in the dark that they are comfortable talking so truthfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but these mistakes.

It is embarrassing and daunting letting someone into her studio apartment. When Sansa lived with her parents, her bedroom was neat but full of color, She had paintings and posters on the walls, pictures of friends. Before she dropped out of college, her dorm was also relatively neat but with more posters and pictures. It was a little different when she lived with Ramsay because she was sharing space. But even then, there were decorations and the place felt lived in. But the Sansa/Alayne that she was now lived quite differently. 

A nice person would call her apartment minimalist. But the truth is, it is an austere room. She never unpacked so she was still living out of the duffle she kept stashed on the floor of her closet. Her bed was always made and in the center of the pillows lay Rickon’s wolf. The only decoration she had was Arya’s bird on the windowsill. There was nothing on the walls. If it weren’t for the wolf and bird, it was like no one lived there. She never really ate at home so the kitchen efficiency had nothing in it but water and a few snacks. There was no desk, no table, and only one chair so there was plenty of space to blow up the mattress Mya had lent her. 

She tries to see the apartment through Jon’s eyes. While he had never directly been invited into her rooms from before, he had seen some of them. He and Robb had helped her move into her dorm. (No one but Theon had seen the place with a.) And she had decorated her dorm room with the help of Margaery who had luxurious taste and impeccable style. From that to this, she’d come a far way. 

“This is me,” she said suddenly shy. “Come on in. There’s space in the closet for your clothes, if you want. And we can get a dog bed for Ghost.” She glances over where Ghost has settled himself down by the window on her hardwood floors. It was early and weak sunlight was making its way in. Ghost found a patch and was already dozing. Davos gave her the day off to get Jon settled, but he was a light traveler with one duffle, and Mya had already dropped off the mattress with extra blankets. 

“It’s great, Sans...Alayne. Really it is.” He gives her a half smile. “I really appreciate this. Ghost does too. You get a lot of nice light.” He wanders over to the window to look at the bird a little closer. She watches him for a few seconds. There isn’t much for him to see in the apartment so it doesn’t take long for him to return to her. 

“The fridge is there if you want to keep water or anything. Not much of a kitchen, but I spend most of my time at Davos’ so there’s really no point. But help yourself to whatever…” It’s weird having someone here, she thinks. It’s weird and awkward and she is regretting her impulse. 

But Jon is nodding and giving her a half smile. He seems as out of place as she is. And if she remembers anything from being Sansa, it is that courtesy is important and she is currently being a terrible host.

“Are you hungry?” She suddenly asks. “I mean, I have no food here. But we could go get some if you’d like. There’s a restaurant up the street and a cafe. I mean, I cook better…” She teases a full smile out of him.

“I don’t doubt that.” He whistles for Ghost. “So far I’ve only seen the Inn and the docks. Show me the town. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. Show me what’s changed.” 

It is easier when they walk when they are away from her home. He slides his hand into her and they walk like that, holding hands again. He points out changes he noticed and makes sarcastic comments about the places that stayed the same. 

“Oh, that’s new,” he says pointing at a discount hiking store. He squints at it. “I think it used to be the post office.” 

“No. The post office was always over there.” She laughs. “You’re a liar, Jon Snow. You don’t remember this town at all.”

“No.” His voice becomes soft. “I had my eyes on something else, back then.” 

“Ygritte?” She doesn’t mean to say anything but it slips out. He turns sharply towards her.

“How did you...Tormund. Of course.” His laugh is sharp. “Yes. Yes. I came here with her a long time ago. She was from here, originally.” He doesn’t say anything else. She squeezes his fingers and pulls him along towards the cafe. 

“Have you ever had their hot chocolate? Because I cannot make a decent hot chocolate to save my life, but it is amazing here.” She guides him out of his funk and into the warm cafe. Their hot chocolate really is life changing, she thinks. 

It’s later that night when the blow-up bed is made and she is bundled in her bed, that he brings up Ygritte again. It’s dark with just the moonlight filtering through her curtains. Ghost has made a home at the foot of her bed, preferring the cushion of her mattress to the air bed. 

“I met her at an Environmental rally. Ygritte.” his voice, though soft and hesitant, is clear in the silence. “She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. She was passionate and I thought we had so much in common. She died last year..” 

They lie there in silence. 

“Ramsay hurt me. He hurt me a lot..” She says, her voice a cracked whisper in the dark. “And he hurt Theon too. He liked to. I was just so scared. If he knows where I am, if he finds me, he’ll hurt me again.”

“Sansa…” he starts. She loudly rolls over onto her side making it clear the conversation is over. Ghost huffs loudly. “I won’t let him hurt you again. I’ll protect you,” he says finally. 

“No one can protect anyone.” She says finally. Sleep doesn’t come easily.

\------------------------------

It’s easy to pretend in the daylight, that they didn’t talk. She’s up earlier than him, though he wakes up after she comes out of the shower already dressed for the day. His hair is every which way and it’s her laughter that wakes Ghost up. Jon walks her to the dock and to work. And they talk about simple things.

“It’s going to snow,” she says with a grin. “And it’s Father’s day soon. It always snows on Father's day and Shireen always bakes Davos something in the kitchen. I’m not allowed to help.” 

“Is she a good baker too?” He looks confused and not quite awake. She made them both coffee in her efficiency, but it’s not as strong as the coffee Davos keeps at the B&B. 

“No.” Alayne laughs. “She’s getting better. But if I’m not there to help, it’s pretty rough. But he’ll eat it because he loves her. You should come to our dinner. I make us Pinnekjøtt which Davos loves, and the three of us and Edric eat a nice dinner. And sometimes watch a movie.”

“I...that’s a nice offer but I’d doubt they’d want me there.”

“Sure they would. It’ll be fun.” She pauses. Jon is concentrating on his coffee. “Jon, how is...does...how is my father?” She swallows and quickly looks forward, her walking a little more determined. 

“Good.” he clears his throat. “He misses you. I think…”

“I’m not ready.” She cuts him off. “What do you think about open sandwiches for lunch, stew for dinner, and a full British breakfast?”

Their days fall into a rhythm where she is Alayne Stone who is learning to trust again. They talk about the town, the upcoming holiday. She makes him help her and Shireen bake. Shireen clearly has a little crush on him, and it makes Alayne smile to see the two of them sitting at her counter while she makes breakfast. Davos seems to like Jon better now. 

But at night, she is Sansa Stark getting to know Jon Snow. He tells her a little more each night about his life. He tells her how when he met Ygritte, she immediately made fun of him but how her brash zest for life attracted him. How alive she’d been. He tells Sansa about Ygritte’s connection with an environmental extremist group called the Wildlings that turned protests violent. How they argued about the right way to effect change. How they broke up because of it. He doesn’t tell her how she died. 

She tells him about the first year of college and her insecurities. How she dropped out and argued with her mother. She tells him a little about staying with her aunt and how her uncle made her uncomfortable. She tells him about running into Theon and being introduced to Ramsay. How Ramsay made her feel like she could be in control again, take back her life. How that was a lie. How she moved in with him to get away from her uncle. She doesn’t tell him the ways Ramsay liked to hurt her or what he did to Theon. 

It’s only in the dark that they are comfortable talking so truthfully. 

She becomes used to him pottering about her apartment in the morning. He starts making the coffee, and he's better it than she is. Slowly snacks and creamer are added to the kitchen. The place begins to feel a more lived in. She can see traces of Jon here and there and Ghost sheds everywhere. She forgets to make her bed one day and returns home to find it sloppily made. Jon is in the kitchen making tea for her return. They split dinner out of containers sitting on the floor with Ghost trying to steal a bite, sipping tea. 

Jon starts doing a little work on the chair, and she has to borrow a tv tray so he has a place for his papers. On the days he doesn't come to work with her, she returns home to find him working in the corner, Ghost at his feet. He mutters about her wifi and she argues he should get a phone, which he eventually does after Davos complains about Jon's aunt who keeps calling him at the B&B even though he no longer stays there. It's nice coming home to someone in a way that she hasn't experienced since living with her parents. If she goes out with Mya, he either comes with or picks her up. And she makes sure he eats and stops working at a decent time. A small part of her worries what having him here means, and what happens when he has to go back. But she pushes those thoughts away. Those are Sansa thoughts. And she wants to be Alayne for this. 

She makes him come to dinner with Davos and Shireen. He remembers to call her Alayne the entire time. Jon gets on well with Davos and Shireen but is cold and unfriendly to Edric. Still, the night is a success and Davos seems pleased with the millionth scarf Shireen has made him and the dinner Alayne had prepared. She watches Shireen and Davos, and can't stop thinking of her father. Davos once told her that if she ever needed to use the phone, she was welcome to. So while Edric is busy regaling Shireen with his fishing tales, and Davos and Jon argue about eco-friendly changes the B&B could make, she sneaks off to Davos’ office and calls home.

Facing the windows, she takes a deep breath and dials home. Her father answers. 

“Ned Stark.” He says. There is silence. “Hello? Hello?” And then hopefully “Sansa, sweetie, is that you?”

She hangs up and starts crying. When she turns around, Jon is waiting there with his arms open. For the second time in a long time, she allows herself to be held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to briefly say thank you for all the support I have received from all of you reading this. I greatly appreciate it. Words cannot describe how much it means to me that you are so kind and so encouraging. 
> 
> Thank you.


	8. Phone calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are consequences to her impulses, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, of course, still own nothing.
> 
> Just a little chapter to get us heading in a new direction.

She doesn’t remember how Jon excuses them and gets them home after Davos’ party. She remembers getting home, being bundled in her bed, and lying awake listening to Ghost snore. She knows Jon is still awake, can hear him breathing. She thinks about the last month, how the two of them have gotten close, and she remembers being young and avoiding him. Where Robb and Arya had thrown themselves fully into Jon’s life, had integrated him fully into theirs, she had held herself apart, had ignored him, had not defended him to kids that laughed at his hand-me-downs, his uncut hair, and his awkwardness. 

She flushes in shame. Children can be so cruel, and Sansa had never known poverty or hardship. She had judged him and his mother for things beyond their control. She had only thought of his status and her status but never of his patience or gentleness. She thinks about the first winter here when Davos gave her an old jacket. How grateful she was to have something warm. How no one shamed her or mocked her for that jacket. 

“Jon” she whispers eventually, her voice soft and trembling. “ Jon, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he murmurs back. She hears him shift towards her in the dark, the blow-up mattress squeaking a little under him.

“For being a bitch to you when we were younger. For judging you and for being cruel the last time we saw each other.” 

“You weren’t a bitch.” he lies. 

“I was. And you’ve always been kind even when I was rude. Forgive me.” 

“You were just a kid. There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Forgive me,” she begs. He doesn’t answer. “Please, Jon. Forgive me.”

“Ok. Ok. I forgive you.” He huffs out a laugh. She reaches her hand down towards where he lies and realizes he is reaching up at the same time. 

“Thank you.” She squeezes his fingers and falls asleep holding his hand.

She dreams of her father. He is in the woods behind their house looking for her. He calls out her name and she tries to answer, tries to run to him but she can’t or maybe he can’t hear her. She screams and screams but there is only silence. She wakes with a gasp. Jon is still asleep, still holding her hand but Ghost wakes up and shoves his snout into her face, his breath strong and pungent. She buries her face in his fur and falls back asleep. This time, she doesn’t dream.

There are consequences to her impulses, of course. It’s why her uncle used to tell her that a person has to think out every move, have plans upon plans upon plans because there are always consequences to actions. This, of course, was before his wife would enter the room and stare at her suspiciously. She should have been expecting the consequences at some point. Still, she finds herself surprised two days later when Davos stops in the kitchen to steal some coffee and stays.

“I had a call the other day,” he says after he’s eaten a muffin and had half the pot of coffee. “Some gentleman from England looking for his daughter. Asked for a Sansa Stark.” She doesn’t pause gutting the fish. He continues. “Told ‘im we don’t have anyone ‘ere with that name. I even looked over our books to see if one had ever stayed here. Pity, that. He started off so hopeful. Was hard telling ‘im no.” Davos sighs, pauses, takes a long sip of his coffee. “It’s a hard thing not knowing, not having answers.” 

He finishes his coffee and leaves. She stops filleting the fish when she realizes her hand is trembling. Washing her hands in the sink, she takes slow deep breaths. 

\----------------------------

Jon’s phone has been ringing off the hook for an hour, but he is ignoring it. He is lounging in the kitchen with Shireen, the two of them debating chocolate chip cookies or snickerdoodles while she washes dishes. Every time the phone buzzes on the counter, he pretends it doesn’t. He turned it silent when it was apparent that whoever was calling wasn’t going to stop. When Shireen is told to go to bed, he finally picks up.

“Dammit, Daenerys I told you…” He is growling into the phone. “Oh. Sorry. Robb. Hey. I thought you were my aunt.” He gets up and exits the kitchen. Alayne can’t help herself; she edges towards the door to see if she can listen in. 

“Yeah. She’s been harassing me again to come work for her. I don’t know if I want to…” Jon is speaking into the phone. She can just barely hear him. “Not why you called…What?......here?” 

The door swings open and almost hits her as Jon strides back in. She flushes an ugly red, caught in the act of eavesdropping. Jon stands in the middle of the kitchen staring at her. She can hear some of Robb’s voice, loud and excited, through the speakers.

“Dad...number up….hotel…….you?”

“Why would I call you on their phone, Robb, when I have my own.” Jon’s voice changes a little, deepens. He walks closer to Alayne. “It wasn’t me.” She backs up until she feels the press of the sink behind her. He follows slowly, giving her time to move away if she wants to. She doesn’t. When he reaches her, he slowly leans in and puts the phone up near her ear. She can hear Robb clearly now. 

“He thinks it might be Sansa. If it wasn’t you. It’s got to be her. Have you….Have you seen her?”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Robb sounds the same, warm and worried. She can almost picture him, pacing on the porch, trying not to be overheard but his voice too loud and too excited. She remembered listening to him talk to his first girlfriend when he was fourteen, bonding with Arya over making fun of him and his cracking voice. She opens her eyes to see Jon’s concerned face. 

“Robb, if there is anything…” But he can’t quite finish the sentence, and Robb doesn't let him. She reaches up to smooth the wrinkles on his forehead. He looks down at her, phone still between them, her hand stroking his face. 

“I know. It was a pipe dream. It's just, I was trying to get Mom and Dad to take a break from the search. It's been two years. But with Theon's sister stopping by the other day asking if we'd heard from Sansa, and then this strange phone call, I don't know what to do. It's like the universe is trying to tell us something. Bran's all about those signs from the universe. Told me to call you. So, tell me about your visit. Is it everything you'd hoped?" Robb pauses. His tone goes from frustrated to teasing. "What made you stay, Jon? A little bird told me something about a girl.” 

Alayne freezes as Jon flushes. She drops her hand. He backs up. 

“It’s not like that. Sam is being an idiot. I’ll tell you everything another time. I...I have to go.” He stumbles through a goodbye and hangs up. Looks at her. “I don’t like lying to him.” He’s still flushed and his voice is a little harsher than normal. “Why did you call?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” She scrubs her face with her hand. "I shouldn't have."

“What are we going to do, Sansa?” He leans against the counter. "I don't want to lie to them. I refuse to lie to them anymore." But before she can answer his phone rings again. “Shite, I have to take this. She won’t stop calling. We have to talk about this. We have to figure this out.” He picks up the phone and leaves. She hears him say hello before the door swings shut behind him.


	9. Family, Duty, Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If there is anything I can teach you, children,” their mother said “It’s the importance of family. Family. Duty. Honor. But first is family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still own nothing. And this is unedited so please bear with me.

The downside to being so open in the dark is the inability to properly communicate in the light, as it were. After Jon leaves to take his call, Alayne busies herself with the kitchen trying hard not to think about Robb or home or even how close Jon had stood. It doesn't work well. She misses home like she used to when she first moved here. She aches thinking about them. She wants her mother to hug her. She wants to argue with Arya. She wants her father to smile at her and Robb to tease her. She wants to see Bran and Rickon. And now she wants to stand close to Jon and make him smile. She isn't sure what that means. 

She is wiping down the counter for the fourth time pretending she isn’t thinking about Robb teasing Jon when Mya arrives.

“Where’s your shadow?” Mya asks immediately plopping herself on a stool. “The human one, I mean. I saw the dog outside.” 

“He had a phone call.” Alayne shrugs. She thinks for a moment. “We can go without him. It’s been awhile since it’s just been us.” She smiles innocently at Mya. She needs some time away. They’ve been living on top of each other for awhile now, and she likes it. She does. But right now when she needs to think and plan, she can’t be distracted by Jon. And she is a little distracted. He's a little distracting. 

“Just like old times. I’ve been keeping the really racy rom coms hidden because you keep bringing him over. Don’t want to scare him off, do we?” Mya squeals. “Oh, bring some cookies.”

Alayne contemplates asking Davos to tell Jon but instead writes him a brief note. 

“What’s S stand for?” Mya asks peering over her shoulder. “Cute nickname? He calls you something special?” Alayne flushes. She hadn’t even noticed she’s started to write Sansa. 

“Something like that.” She leaves just the initial and folds the note. The plan is to tie it to Ghost’s collar and let Jon find it. Ghost, however, is having none of it. Every time she tries to attach it to his collar, he shies away, only to return and repeat. Eventually, she gives up and asks Davos to give it to Jon. Davos smiles at her as Mya, giggling, drags her out the door. Ghost follows.

Sitting on the couch in Mya’s living room, Alayne tries to reassess the situation. Ghost has followed her completely into the house and is currently dozing, head in her lap. She runs her hands through his fur. The easiest solution is to leave. Her bag is already packed, and she knows the train schedule. But the idea of leaving hurts. When she ran away from Ramsay, she left to save herself and protect her family. She was desperate when she ran and other than her family, there was really no one to miss her. But Ramsay must be over her by now. Two years was a long time.

If she called home and explained the situation, Robb would probably go after Ramsay. Her father would probably insist they go to the authorities. Robb would get arrested. The police would laugh them out of the building because it had been two years. Plus Ramsay's father is influential and could make it go away if he wanted. Most importantly, Ramsay would know she was alive. And what if he wasn't over her? What if he still wanted to hurt her? 

Ghost whines when she clenches her fist in his fur. She murmurs apologies into his back. He huffs at her but settles back into his doze. She strokes the top of his head and the downy tufts of his ears. On screen a couple is having frenzied sex, and on the chair across the room, Mya is eating a cookie with one hand, texting with the other, and half watching the film. 

Mya catches Alayne watching her and smiles. If she left, who would cook for the hotel and make sure Davos didn't burn down the kitchen? Who would bake with Shireen and gossip with Mya? Who would give Grenn and Pyp coffee? If she left now, who would make sure Jon ate? She smiles back at Mya and continues to pet Ghost. 

Jon is sitting on the air-bed surrounded by papers when she and Ghost arrive home. It’s late, but he’s futzing with his phone, then stopping to consult his piles of papers before returning to the phone. She manages to sneak in a little because he doesn’t seem to have noticed her. 

“What’s this?” She asks finally steps into the room. Jon looks up, pencil in mouth and brow furrowed. “You hungry? I have cookies.” She shakes the Tupperware at him. She steps carefully around the papers that have been spread out on the floor to hand him the container. He immediately opens it and shoves one in his mouth. 

He’s in his pajamas, looking warm and soft, dark hair curling everywhere. It's getting a bit long, she thinks fondly. Her chest aches and she can’t quite breathe when he looks up and tells her, with crumbs on the corner of his lips, that the cookies are good. She’s not sure what she’ll do when he leaves. She shakes that thought off for a moment. 

“Thank you.” She motions to the papers he is attempting to straighten up. “What are you working on?”

She can’t fully read the papers, but she can see plans and charts and a whole lot of writing. Jon flushes and scoops the papers up, shuffling them a little. Alayne sits on the bed next to Ghost who has already sprawled out over her comforter. She can tell from the rise and fall of his chest that Ghost is already asleep. 

“I’ve been helping Sam out, a little. Consulting,” he tells her as he takes a second cookie. She only half listens as he begins to explain some finer details of the building they are attempting to retrofit for energy efficiency. In his excitement, he unfurls a blueprint and starts pointing out where the changes need to be made and what architects he’s been talking to. She notices a name at the top of the paper.

“Targaryen?” He abruptly stops at her words. “The famous and very rich and very tragic Targaryen family and company? You are retrofitting one of their buildings?”

“Consulting.” He says stiffly. He folds up the papers and begins putting them away. He looks tense as he shoves the papers in a briefcase she didn’t even notice until then. She thinks back on what she knows about the Targaryens. Rich and famous, they owned a slew of brands, products, and buildings. They were well known for dying young and violently, a product of unchecked power. Aerys Targaryen was stabbed in the back by an employee; Rhaegar, his son, supposedly died in a bar fight over a woman; Viserys, his younger brother, died trying to turn lead into gold. Most people only worked with them out of necessity. No one liked to. 

“Ok.” She gets up and ignoring his suddenly apologetic face, heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, she won’t force him. “I have an early morning. You getting up too or should I let you sleep in?” she calls over her shoulder. He doesn’t reply. She changes quickly and when she steps out, he is still sitting on the mattress, his head in his hands. He looks up when she enters.

“Daenerys Targaryen is my aunt, the one that keeps calling. She wants me to work with her.” he sighs and looks down at his hands. “I agreed to help Sam consult. But it’s complicated.”

“Do you like what you do, Jon?” She asks as she crawls over Ghost and under her covers. “Then keep doing what you do. Uncomplicate it so you can keep doing it.”

He gets up and turns off the light. 

\-------------------------------------------------

She takes an afternoon off when Davos is busy finding Christmas decorations in the attic and Jon is having Skype meetings in her apartment, and she rides the train to Hareina where she finds a pay phone in a hostel. She buys a phone card from the apathetic clerk, takes a deep breath, and calls home. Bran answers. 

“Hello?” His voice is deeper than she remembers. Her eyes start to tear up, and she takes a shuddering breath. They are both silent for a minute. “Sansa.” He says, voice soft and kind. “It’s alright. It’s just me.”

“Hello Bran.” Her hands are trembling a little. She looks up to see the clerk looking at her with concern. She smiles at him. He nods and goes back to his book. 

“Hello, Sansa.” He says again. She can hear the smile in his voice, almost see the way it would stretch across his face. “Everyone is out but I stayed home because I knew you would call.” She hears the kettle in the background. “It snowed early this year. Would you like to know what we’ve been up to?” He doesn’t wait for her. “Arya has a boyfriend. You wouldn’t expect that, would you? They’ve been dating a few months but been friends for two years. Rickon joined a football team. He plays right wing. Mum signed him up hoping that it might curb some of his energy. It hasn’t. They’re at a game right now. Robb is dating two girls. I think he’s on a date with one of them right now. Dad is amused. Mum is not.” 

His voice was soothing. He tells her about the job Robb hates, the fencing Arya loves, the wolf-dog Rickon brought home that impregnated their Malamute and the puppies they have. He tells her there is one for her. And that one of Robb’s girlfriends painted a mural in Sansa’s bedroom so she’d have something pretty to come home to. That Rickon pins her postcards to his wall and tells strangers about his sister who lives far away. 

“What” she clears her throat. “What about you, Bran?” There is a pause, and she can almost see the surprise on his face. Did he think she would be silent their entire talk? When they were younger, before she pulled away from the family, she always liked late-night conversations with Bran. The gap in their ages never felt too big when they talked. Bran was always mature. He was eighteen now, she thought to herself. He's the age she was when she met Ramsay. 

“I’m taking a gap year.” He says, bringing her back to the present. “And then I might go to Manchester. I haven’t decided yet.” He tells her a little about what he wants to study and a college girl he’s been messaging named Meera who he met through her brother. Sansa lets the words wash over her, lets herself pretend she’s just a homesick girl backpacking in Norway who stopped to call home. 

Bran never asks when she’s coming home. He never asks when she is going to call again. Simply tells her that he’s glad she’s okay and really Thursdays are the best to call if she wants to talk to their parents. Evenings are, of course, best because they are all home then. 

“How did you know I would call today?” she asks right before they hang up. 

“I dreamt it,” he tells her. “I dreamt you were calling for us. And at first, we couldn’t hear you. You were running in the woods behind our house, silently screaming but then it began to snow. And I could hear you. When I woke up this morning and the ground was covered in snow, I knew you would call. I can’t explain it. I barely understand it myself. I just knew you would call.”

She thinks about his dream on her ride home. She means to tell Jon about it when she gets home if only because she thinks he will be proud and relieved that she called home, but when she gets back to the apartment, he’s in the middle of an argument with Sam on skype. 

“Why can’t you go?” Jon looks up when she comes in. His face relaxes a little. “Hold on Sam. Sa...layne, Davos sent over some leftover soup. I can heat it up for you.” 

She shakes her head and starts getting ready for bed. She can hear them arguing as she brushes her teeth but when she comes out, Jon has hung up and is lying down. 

“I think I have to go home.” He says moments later when the lights are out as if he can’t face her. She thinks about everything she wanted to say to him. “I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispers back. “But maybe you’re supposed to. Did you uncomplicate it?” She hears him turn towards her. 

“I don’t know if I can,” he says finally. “Sam. Daenerys. Ygritte. Your family. It’s all tangled up. Ygritte and I broke up because of the company she wanted to take down was owned by Daenerys. That's when I found out she was my aunt. She'd been searching for me, found some old letters of my mothers. I met her and the next day one of the Wildings missions went bad, and Ygritte was killed. ”

Sansa rolls over to stare at the ceiling. She remembers putting stars on the ceiling of Rickon’s bedroom when he was eight. Afterwards, he begged her to tell him a story under his stars since their mother wouldn’t let him camp outside because it was too cold. Under the glow of green plastic, she read her favorite fairy tales to a captive audience of Rickon, and Bran and even Arya, in one of her less antagonistic moments. Robb eventually joined them. When she had finished, Rickon was asleep and their mother was standing in the doorway. 

“If there is anything I can teach you, children” their mother said “It’s the importance of family. Family. Duty. Honor. But first is family.”

Sansa turns back to Jon. 

“You don't have to work for her” she says. “But it maybe you should tell her why. She just wants family.”


	10. Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She carefully hoards their remaining hours and days together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still do not own a darn thing. 
> 
> And this is getting wildly out of control and at this point everyone is pretty ooc. 
> 
> Thank you for bearing with me.

There is something bittersweet to their morning routine now. Jon still makes her coffee and walks her to work but they find excuses to touch each other more. A nudge of the shoulders or a hand on the back. Jon tends to play with the end of her braid as they walk. She finds reasons to brush past him in the kitchen when he is there. They sit closer than necessary during meals. She doesn’t remember ever having this same pressing need to touch someone and be reminded that they are there, if only for a little while longer. 

He buys his ticket home for the start of December, apologizing the whole time that he won’t be there for Christmas. It’d be a lie to say she isn’t disappointed, but she hides it as best she can, although not that well if the way he gently tucks her hair back and strokes her cheek with his thumb. The first time he touched her hair and face, she flinched automatically, but because of the finite nature of these moments, because she knows he is leaving, she allows him this physical leeway. Eventually, she looks forward to them, his warm gentle hand cradling her face. 

There are still boundaries. She’s only ready for a bit of physical intimacy. He never pushes for more, seems to be content with these tiny moments. And little by little, she allows them more. She carefully hoards their remaining hours and days together. And something simmers in her belly when he spares her one of his infrequent smiles only to sour when she remembers he’s leaving. She is grateful he came to her small town despite her fears when he first arrived. He reminds her of home and her family, thoughts that are as comforting as they are painful.

As November comes to a close, she is aware that his leaving is going to be hard, harder than she ever thought when he started to become a part of her life. And even though they keep some things separate (she never tells him she called Bran and he never tells her when Robb calls though she assumes he must), they have integrated many aspects of their lives together. This comfortable domesticity of cooking while he works on his blueprints nearby, or where he asks for her thoughts even though she knows nothing about environmental engineering, is not something she’s ever had before. It’s comforting as well, to know that her presence has value. 

She tries not to compare them, because really despite what Mya and well everyone else thinks, she and Jon are not in a romantic relationship. So she tries not to compare this to her brief time with Joffrey when she was a teenager or those months with her Aunt and Uncle, and especially not with her time with Ramsay. But she finds herself looking back at those and thinking, this is what it should have been like. And when she sees Jon’s tangled hair in the morning or bent over his lunch, she is almost overcome with fondness. 

Sometimes when he catches her looking at him, she thinks she sees that same fondness reflected back in his dark eyes. And isn’t it funny, she thinks, that the two of them would bond like this. She knows that her family would be shocked if they could see her now. And how the Theon before Ramsay would have laughed. But she tries not to think of Theon. 

The night before he leaves, she makes Jon stew again, this time her father’s exact recipe. She convinces Grenn and Pyp to get the rabbits and join her. They have a mini going away party for Jon in the kitchen with Grenn, Pyp, Tormund, Mya, Davos, and Shireen. It’s a little after dinner so they can serve their guests first, but it’s quiet and nice. She leans near the stove after handing out bowls of soup, and looks at her filled kitchen. Shireen is stealing pieces of Davos’ bread as Mya tells an elaborate story that has Davos trying to cover Shireen’s ears. Jon is eating soup while half listening to Pyp and Grenn argue about who Myranda noticed the last time they were at the bar. She is popping some more bread and cheese in the toaster oven when Tormund sidles up to her.

“He won’t be gone that long.” He says to her. When she looks at him, he gives her an exaggerated wink. “I think he has a reason to return.” She blushes. “I don’t think he wants to leave. You’ve done a nice thing, girlie. And if ye don’t mind me saying, I think he’s done a nice thing for you too.”

Her smile twists a little at that. Tormund doesn’t notice, just helps himself to more soup and bounds away to tease Shireen. The kitchen is warm and full, but Alayne shivers beneath her sweater. 

Jon leaves with little fanfare. Alayne kneels down in the snow and rubs her cheeks against Ghost’s soft fur.

“Take care of Jon.” She whispers to him. “And when you see our brother Rickon, give him extra love for me. I’ll miss you.” Ghost whines and shoves his head into her chest. She pets him for awhile before getting up and steeling herself to look Jon straight in the eyes. “Take care of yourself, Jon.”

Tormund has taken Jon’s duffle and loaded it in his car. He turns away to give them a little privacy, and Jon takes that moment to wrap his arms around her. 

“Aye.” He promises. “And I’ll be back. I swear it. I will see you again soon.” He cups her face in his hands and kisses her forehead. She closes her eyes, and they pause there for a moment. She can feel his breath against her head, his lips against her forehead. “Sansa,” he says finally “This isn’t goodbye but see you later.” He pulls away. “I’ll call. I promise.” 

She smiles wanly but waves with as much enthusiasm as she can muster as he hops in the car and drives away from her. She watches until the car is but a speck in the distance. 

\-------------------------------

She calls home again that night. It’s been weeks and she’s been caught up hoarding time with Jon that she hasn’t ventured out to call home. She waits until Jon has left and then takes the train to Hareina where the same clerk is there. He straightens up from his slouch and gives her a quick flirtatious smile that startles her. It’s been awhile since anyone has looked at her like that. 

She gives him a perfunctory smile back and scurries into the phone booth. Alayne doesn’t like the attention; never had, never will. But deep down in that part of Sansa that has never gotten past it, she preens a little. Like needing the validation that her presence is wanted, so too does that little part need the validation that brown haired in sweaters much too big and a man's jacket, she is still attractive to young men.

It helps that he is tall and wiry with light brown hair. Not blond and brash like Joffrey or stocky and dark like Ramsay or even neat and pristine like her uncle. He is a plain ordinary boy with a friendly smile looking at what he thinks is a plain friendly girl. It feels nice and simple. And it is with that mindset that she calls home.

“‘Lo?” The last time she heard this voice it was still cracking. “Hellooooo”

“Rickon?” her voice cracks. She should have known someone else would be home. She doesn’t know why she assumed Bran would answer again. But for some reason she did. She wasn’t expecting Rickon. 

When she first went to college, Rickon was so young. 

“Yeah. Who’s this?” She hangs up. Holds a trembling hand to her mouth and tries not to cry. The clerk is looking at her again, just like last time, concern all over his face. She waves a little at him, picks up the phone, and tries again.

“‘Lo?” 

“Hi Rickon. It’s Sansa.” He’s about thirteen now, she thinks. 

“Sansa?” He sounds excited. “Is that really you? I got your postcards. They’re on my wall.” she lets his voice rush over her as she listens to him talk. Het tells her everything about his life in the only way a thirteen-year-old can, unconsciously forgivably self-involved. He tells her about his puppy and hers. He's named Shaggy, he tells her and he calls her lady. They’re friends. Lady likes to sleep in her room because she’s waiting for Sansa to come home and when is Sansa coming home? It’s been a long time. 

“Three years.” She says. “I miss you.” He misses her too, he assures her. And he would write back but he doesn’t have an address. He plays football and would love for her to come to his game because Mum and Dad are so embarrassing and Arya is too judgmental since she used to play and Robb flirts with all the moms even though they are way too old for him. And she would be way nicer than everyone. 

He talks and talks and talks himself hoarse. By the end of it though, Sansa is laughing. He’s in the middle of telling her a story about the time he freed all the puppies in the house and all of them started peeing at once when she hears someone call his name in the background.

“I have to go, Rickon,” she says suddenly serious. 

“Hold on.” he says to her and then yells away from the phone “I’m on the phone, Robb. Can’t it wait?” She hears mumbling in the background. “It’s Sansa.” then glass shatters and there is running. 

“Sansa.” Robb must have wrestled the phone away from Rickon. She can hear scuffling in the background, can picture them fighting over the phone, Robb towering over Rickon. “Sansa?” His voice is desperate, pleading. She is frozen.

The last time they talked, he told her she was selfish, that she and her boyfriend had ruined their parents anniversary and why did she invite him anyway? The last time they had talked, he accused her of doing drugs and told her she was stupid for hanging out with Theon. The last time they had talked, he told her to get it together or to stop coming home because she was breaking their parents’ heart. 

Trembling, she hangs up the phone. Because all the things he said, he was partially right.


	11. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salvation comes in the form of a phone call from Jon and a visit from Brienne Tarth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still own nothing.
> 
> I still only have rough ideas of where this is going so I apologize for any chapters that seem to plod along aimlessly in addition to any mistakes that most definitely exist. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for the encouragement. You guys are rather swell.

She ends up in front of the fireplace in Davos’ office, drinking hot cider with him. The idea of heading back to her empty apartment with no trace of Jon or Ghost is so bleak it has her craving companionship. Eventually she knew she’d have to head home, but for now, Davos let her sit in the quiet room and warm her hands. Shireen had gone to bed. The guests were taken care of. She could hear some of them in the living room, playing games and drinking the cider she made. They were laughing.

“I called home.” She said abruptly into the silence. Davos put his mug on the side table and looked at her.

“And how was that?” 

“I don’t know.” She takes a long slow sip of cider. She hadn’t intended on telling him or anyone really about her phone call. And Alayne was supposed to be orphan. But by the way he reacted to her father calling, he obviously knew that was a lie. 

“Hard,” she told him finally. “It was hard.”

“Aye. It would be. But it’s good, they know you are well.” He picked up his mug again and blew on it. “Will ye call them again?” She shrugs. “Ye should. Call them again. I won’t tell ye how to live your life, but I’ll say this. They want to hear from ye. Whatever your past, whatever ye think ye’ve done, they want to hear from ye, Alayne.”

She bites her lip and glances over at him. He is studying his mug. She turns back to the fire. 

“You know that’s not my real name.” 

“Aye. I do, Sansa.”

\------------------------------------------------

She’s a little out of sorts for the next few days. The emptiness of her apartment coupled with the memory Robb’s voice leaves her off kilter and uncomfortable. She tries to focus all of her nervous energy on preparing for the holidays. She makes an army of meat and fish pies and stores them in the freezer and begins baking non stop. Davos has to kick her out at night more than once. She hates going home and lying in her cold bed without Ghost there sprawled across her legs at night, without hearing Jon’s soft breathing. Salvation comes in the form of a phone call from Jon and a visit from Brienne Tarth. 

She and Shireen are adding the decorative finishing touches of the sugar cookies when Davos leans in to tell her she has a phone call. He still calls her Alayne. She had told him a little about her past, though not much, and Davos was smart enough to know what she wasn’t saying. She told him about an ex who had been cruel, who like being cruel, and who had enough connections to make anything she said look like lies. And after telling him just enough to give him a picture, he treated her exactly as he had always done. 

“Alayne, there’s a phone call for ye in my office.” He looks at Shireen who is covered in frosting. “Save me any of that?” He swaps places with Sansa and begins haphazardly smearing frosting on the remaining cookies. Shireen and Sansa share a glance and laugh before she makes her way to the office.

“Hello?” She is confused as to who was calling but trusts that Davos would warn her if it was anything worrisome.

“Sansa.” His voice is warm and welcome curling into her ear. “How are you?”

“Jon? Is that you?” She settles into the seat behind Davos’ desk. “Is everything okay?”

“Aye.” She can hear him smile, imagine it’s brief flight across his face. “I just miss you.” She feels something inside of her clench and release.

“I miss you too.” She confesses in a rush. “Ghost too.” 

“I’ve had problems getting used to a real mattress again,” he laughs. “And Ghost pines for you. Also, I’m losing weight since I’m not eating your baking anymore. How anyone there stays fit, I’ll never know.” 

“No one sits behind desks.” She teases. “How’s that?”

As she settles in to listen to him talk about work, Shireen sneaks in to drop off hot chocolate and an overly frosted cookie before leaving her to it. The mug of hot chocolate is filled to the brim with marshmallows, and Shireen grins at Sansa’s look. Still, Sansa takes a sip and makes an exaggerated pleased look at Shireen, humming a little in her satisfaction. She listens to Jon tell her about work.

He tells her how pleased he is with the progress he and Sam are making. That his aunt keeps invites him to lunch, and he’s gone once or twice because he remembered what Sansa said about family. But it’s awkward and uncomfortable even though she seems nice. But the work is good, interesting. He feels like he’s making progress. Daenary’s listens to his input and seems to respect his opinion, though she can be headstrong. The buildings shouldn’t be too hard to convert to a more energy efficient model, at least according to the architect he hired. He wants to look a little more into the production of some of their brands, but it’s not really his wheelhouse, and he doesn’t want to take advantage of his connection. 

“But,” he says carefully “I feel like it’s important that I look into what Ygritte was protesting. The details are a little fuzzy, and I feel like I owe it to her memory. Does that make sense?” 

“Of course, Jon.” She rubs her hand across her chest. It aches at the pain in his voice. She takes a deep slow breath. “I’m sorry, Jon. I think it’s brave of you. I think she would have appreciated this, especially if you can change the company for the better.” 

“You think so?” She can hear him leaning back in his chair. She wonders if he’s still at work, or at home relaxing. 

“I do.” She finished her hot chocolate listening to him breathe. 

“Tell me about you.” he said finally. She smiles and begins telling him about the Christmas prep, the goodies she’s been baking, the sweaters Davos keeps wearing, the guests, and the decorations, and the snow. She tells him all about the snow. 

“I called home again.” She admits eventually. “Twice.”

“I know.” He finally says. “I’m glad you told me. You know, Robb mentioned it, the other night when I went over for dinner, and Rickon gushed about it, and then slept in your bedroom with all of the puppies and Ghost. I think Ghost missed you so he tolerated the rest.” they both laugh. “Are you okay?” he asks. 

“No. But, I think I will be.” 

“You should call again. And for now, I’ll let you go.” Jon says eventually, reluctantly. “But, look in the mail. I have something for you.”

“Jon…”

“It’s something you need. Don’t think about it.” Then softer, gentler “I miss you. Thank you for letting me into your life, Sansa.”

“I miss you too.” she whispers back, “Will you call again?” 

“Of course. Sleep tight.” They hang up. Davos is in the doorway, frosting in his beard.

“Edric’s here to take ya home.” He says.

“How many of my cookies did you two eat?” She reaches over and dusts his beard a little. As she stands next to him, she realizes they are the same height. He’s solid but not very big, and she thinks maybe that’s why she always felt safe, not overwhelmed by him like she was when she met Tormund for the first time. Standing there in his grey sweater with frosting on his beard, probably put there by Shireen, she feels that fondness swell in her chest again. 

“None! Shireen wouldna let me. This is from decorating!” He escorts her to the hallway and hands her her jacket and bag. 

“Thank you. Davos.” she grips his hand for a second. “Thank you for everything.” As she bundles herself into Edric’s truck, she sees Shireen and Davos in the window watching them drive away. Shireen waves. 

Days later, Brienne shows up with a small package and a crate full of lemons. Lemons are no longer in season, haven’t been for some time, but Brienne tells her that they were specially ordered for her by at least half of the town. 

“Everyone remembers that lemon cake you made the first year you were here, and how pleased you were at how it turned out. They said your young man left. Everyone chipped in. The town went a little overboard. I think they wanted to cheer you up." They both look at the overflowing crate. Brienne smirks. "Looks like you’ll be making a lot of cakes.” She places the crate by the cooler and then hands her the small box. “And this came for you.”

Sansa thanks her and opens the box. It’s a phone, a nice phone at that. The note in the box tells her that it's from Jon, and he went ahead and programed in a few numbers for her already. It’s a pay as you go with an unlisted number so she can call whoever she wants, whenever she wants but he hopes she calls him soon. Sending Brienne on her way with a sandwich and a mug of tea, Sansa takes a break to look at the phone. Jon’s number is there as as Sam’s and Gilly’s. 

As she explores the phone, she comes across a little note in the memo app. It says for when you are ready, and inside is a list of all her siblings new numbers. She starts to type out a thank you text, but it gets too sappy. So instead she sends Jon a picture of the full crate and tells him, complete with emojis that "When life gives you lemons, make lemon cake," and then immediately after "Wish you were here"


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she turned five, her mother let her help bake her birthday cake. It was a simple lemon cake with a light frosting. She loved it and refused to share with any of her siblings or guests. She only shared it when her father told her that she could either have the cake all to herself and get no presents, or share and get presents. It’s a story her father loved to tell on her birthday before they would sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with the owning of nothing GOT. 
> 
> This is a little short chapter to get us from here to there. 
> 
> Thanks, everyone, again, for all the support and encouragement. You all are fabulous. Hope November has been treating you right.

As silly as it is, she is sometimes startled by her phone. It’s been so long since she’s had one that the buzz of an incoming text or call makes her jump. And then there is this flash of giddy curiosity about who texted. She’s given out her number to a few select people, still too nervous to fully admit she has a phone. Outside of Jon, Davos and Mya are the only people that really use it. Davos, despite her walking home alone for two years, insists she text him as soon as she’s in her apartment at night. And Mya alternates between telling dirty jokes and demanding food. 

She texts Jon the most. At first, it’s a picture of the lemon cakes she makes. She takes a Saturday and uses all the lemons. The plan is to give one to everyone she knows. She doesn’t have quite enough lemons for that, but she manages by doing half fresh lemon and half frozen from the summer. And they are small cakes, just so everyone gets a taste and a thank you. The entire kitchen is full of boxes of cakes and she sends Jon a picture of Shireen standing next to an overflowing counter. And then a picture of Mya and Davos trying to sneak away with armfuls of cake. 

His response is to ask how many she ate which makes her laugh. It’s not a secret that she loves lemon cake. When she turned five, her mother let her help bake her birthday cake. It was a simple lemon cake with a light frosting. She loved it and refused to share with any of her siblings or guests. She only shared it when her father told her that she could either have the cake all to herself and get no presents, or share and get presents. It’s a story her father loved to tell on her birthday before they would sing.

It became a sort of tradition. She would bake a lemon cake with her mother, her father would tell the story of her gluttony, and her siblings would tease her. Lemon cake was the first thing she attempted to bake when she moved to Flam. She cried the entire time she baked it, the tangy sweet smell of lemons baking had made her miss her family so fiercely that she shook, and the cake turned out a little lopsided and lumpy. But little Shireen crept into the kitchen silently and helped her decorate it. And after, the two of them split a piece, the first of many cakes they shared, and it tasted a little like home, and the ache in her chest eased just a little. She saves the last cake to share with Shireen. The first selfie she takes in years is the two of them in the warm kitchen sharing a piece of cake. 

She sends it to Jon. 

Jon messages a lot of little things throughout the day. He’s not very good with words so more often than not his messages are brief comments about his day, sometimes short bursts of disbelief at his co-workers and contractors. He texts her when one of the Board Members compares global warming to fairy tales, calling it liberal grumpkins and snarks. She texts back “Remind him of the money he will save.” He tells her that the board isn’t sold on his ideas yet, but with Daenary’s support and the idea of cutting costs at least have them listening. 

Sometimes he sends pictures too. He spends a lot of time with Rickon, and she gets a barrage of Rickon covered in puppies pictures. There are the odd videos of Rickon teaching the puppies to howl and Ghost herding them. A few pictures of Ghost asleep all over the Stark house, and though it's been two years she can still recognize her old home. Ghost likes the patches of sunlight and her bed. 

Jon doesn’t remind her about the note on her phone, and she never brings it up. Sometimes, though, she opens the note and looks at her siblings' numbers and imagines calling one of them. But then she closes the phone and goes about her day. She's busy enough not to think about it too much. She does check the phone a lot. Somehow she's become like every other phone obsessed twenty-something year old. Davos has been so lenient about it, but he watches her a little more. She knows he's worried about her. 

And it's not just him. Tormund stops by a lot more even though he lives a town away and his work with Sam has been done for awhile. Plus Jon is gone. She isn't sure if it's because he's worried about her or if he's trying to get another glimpse of Brienne. They officially met when she delivered the lemons. Despite the fact that Brienne has been delivering goods to all the towns in this region for years, Tormund has never met her. The look on his face when she strode in carrying a basket of lemons had Davos choking on his tea. He tells Sansa this story often to coax a smile out of her. 

"She burst in with those lemons, and it was like Tormund was seeing God for the first time. He scrambled up to help, and the look she gave him could cut mountains. I swear, he clutched his chest like he was 'aving a heart attack." It never fails to make her giggle a little. Brienne is a tall stunning woman but serious and driven, and the thought of lighthearted and borderline silly Tormund chasing after her makes Sansa smile. The two are so different. And, Brienne confides, she has a pen pal in England she is interested in. He's ex-military who lost a hand. He has good intentions, she insists though he doesn't always act on them. 

With Tormund stopping by, asking after Jon, after Brienne, and insisting on dragging Sansa and Shireen outside to play in the snow, Mya insisting on more movie nights and gossiping about Jon, Davos watching her, and even Pyp and Grenn hesitantly asking after her health (something they never did before - their old transactions more along the lines of what did you bring me?), Sansa never seems to have a minute to really think about the phone numbers. And everyone who got a cake stops her on the street to ask after her health and heart. Then they shyly ask about Jon. Her little town seems more obsessed with her love life than they ever were about Alayne's backstory. No one likes the reality of tragedy but everyone loves a little romance. 

Still, she finds time at night in her apartment to think about home and her new opportunity to reach out to them. She can't bring herself to call anyone's cell, but she does eventually use the phone to call home. She makes a cup of tea, curls up in her warmest sweater, bundles down into her bed and builds a fort of blankets around her. She thumbs the phone for a little while before dialing the number she knows so well. She’s never done this before, called late at night when everyone is home. But she finally dials the number. She can’t help her sigh of relief when Bran answers again. 

“I’m glad you called.” He says before she can even say hello. “I knew you would.”

“Hello, Bran.” She smiles. “Are you home alone again?”

“No. Everyone is here. Jon too. He came for dinner, and Robb convinced him to stay the night in your room. I told him you wouldn’t mind.” There’s something in his voice that makes her think he knows Jon stayed with her. Bran has a way of knowing things that no one else does. He has these hunches that are always right. She doesn’t understand how but finds it best not to question. She had forgotten how annoying it could be. It’s hard to hide things from someone who constantly looks like they know everything. She huffs out a half laugh. 

“No. I don’t mind. How is everyone?” 

“Good. Everyone is good. We just finished dinner. Arya’s boyfriend came over. I think Dad likes him even though he’s older. It helps that she took up fencing and kickboxing. She could probably beat him up if she needed. We’re just having some tea. Do you want to talk with anyone?” His voice is gentle. Soothing. Like he knows she might run if he pressures her too much. 

“Don’t want to talk with me anymore, Bran? I’m hurt.” He laughs. She whispers to him, “I don’t know if I’m ready.” 

“Of course you are.” He sounds so sure, so positive. “They’ve been waiting, but if you need a little more time, they will keep waiting. We’ll always be here, waiting for you for whenever you are ready.”

She bites her lip and sips on her tea. “Okay. Maybe, maybe just Arya for right now.” She thinks she can face Arya's brand of love and anger. She isn't ready for her parent's disappointment and pain. And she isn't sure she'll ever be ready for Robb. 

“I’ll get her.” He covers the phone but she can still hear his muffled cry for Arya.

“What.” Arya sounds almost exactly the same, a little rough and angry, but maybe a little older. Sansa hears Bran pass the phone over. “Hello?”

“Hi.” Sansa is a little more breathless than she meant to be. “It’s Sansa.” There is silence, a long pause. She fidgets a little and remembers the last time she saw Arya. They didn’t fight. But the look Arya gave her, disappointment and distrust lingers in her mind. “I...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I have to...I’ve got to.”

“Wait.” Arya clears her throat. “Don’t hang up just yet.” And they sit there breathing at each other. 

“You should...you should come home.” Arya finally says. “I’d like it if you came home.” She clears her throat again. “Here’s Bran.” Sansa hears the phone drop and then there is just air for a moment before she hears feet scrambling over. 

“Hey. Hey. Sansa. You’re still there?” Rickon is breathless and excited. “Bran said you were on the phone. I wanted to say hi. Hi. Jon and I took the dogs to the park today. Ghost almost ate a squirrel. Shaggydog fell into the lake, and I had to go in after him. Jon said he could swim but I wasn’t sure. We were drenched, and Jon made me run home. Mom was so pissed. And we saw Theon Greyjoy’s sister. Remember when he used to come over? Did you know she’s looking for you? I heard Dad tell Jon it’s because of the trial. No one wants to help him. Oh, and Arya’s boyfriend said he’d teach me how to sculpt. He’s an artist, I think. He works with metals. Mom says I can't use a blowtorch yet, but I think I'm old enough.” He says all of this in one breath, and then to someone standing next to him. “Why can’t I talk to Sansa? Bran gets to.” 

“Sansa.” Bran has obviously taken the phone away from Rickon. His voice is low and serious. “Call back on Thursday. We’ll talk then. I'll be alone. I know you have questions.” 

She doesn’t say anything, though he murmurs goodbye. She’s thinking about Theon. The last time she saw him was the night she left. Ramsay was taking him out, and Theon looked a mess. He was frail and fragile, sickly, but Ramsay liked making Theon watch him so there was no way he would have stayed home. The look Theon had given her as they left, he knew she was leaving. She was leaving him to Ramsay, but he said nothing. She told herself that if Theon had stayed, she wouldn't have been able to leave. She cared for him, but she had enough self-preservation to know that had he stayed, she would have had to take him with her. And he would slow her down. So she left him. Left him to that monster. And she hadn't thought of him since. While she allowed brief thoughts of her parents and her siblings, she had shut down her brain anytime it went to Theon. She had left him and forgotten him. And now he might need her. When she comes back to herself, she’s retching in the bathroom and her phone is ringing. 

“I meant to tell you,” Jon says as soon as she picks up. “I was going to tell you, but I wanted to wait until I knew all the details. I still don’t know them all.” She says nothing so he barrels on. “Two years ago, Roose Bolton went missing. They found his body a few months ago and information puts Theon at the center of the investigation. His sister thinks you can help his trial.”

“How?” she croaks out. Her throat is raw from dry heaving. 

“Because he says the night Roose Bolton went missing, he was in the hospital with you.”


	13. Theon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So she sat there, watching Theon’s mangled hands write a fake name, smelling antiseptic, and listening to the beeps of machines, the wails of ambulances, and the coughs of the people bleeding and maybe dying next to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I do not own these characters. 
> 
> To the people kind enough to read this, my apologies for the delay. This chapter did not go the way I had intended so I'm a wee nervous about it. 
> 
> Thank you all for continuing to read. And for your patience.

Sansa was a neat and careful child, more inclined to stay inside and play with her dolls than climb trees and romp around the expansive yard her childhood home had. She barely ever had scrapes or bruises. Her father called her his dainty little lady. Her mother relied on her being the least problematic child. Unlike her siblings, she never got into trouble. She never broke a bone. Her mother never had to take her to A&E because of an overly ambitious jump or get a ladder to bring her down from the top of the tree. Instead, Sansa helped soothe wounds and fix boo-boos. As a toddler, Rickon preferred her brand of soothing over their mothers. Probably because after four other children, and Jon, their mother cooed less and scolded a little more. 

When Ramsay broke her wrist, no one cooed over her or fussed about. No one panicked and worried about it. Ramsay laughed it off and went out drinking, so she thought. But he left Theon there. That night, he left Theon with her. And for an hour the two of them sat there in the dark silence of that apartment. Sansa too much in shock to feel anything. Theon silent because he had learned quickly not to talk. Eventually, though, he had asked, voice a mere whisper in the air, if she wanted him to take her to the hospital. And when she didn’t answer, or couldn’t, he bundled her up as best he could and tracked down a cab.

They spent the night in the emergency room; her broken wrist just couldn’t compete with gunshot wounds and busted heads. They didn’t talk. Theon filled out the paperwork for her, his recently incorrectly healed fingers carefully sketching out her name. Well, not really her name. He put her in as S. Tully. She never questioned it. It was a fact that her last name was well known, but more importantly, that her parents were overprotective. And if they found out she was at the hospital, anything could have happened.

So she sat there, watching Theon’s mangled hands write a fake name, smelling antiseptic, and listening to the beeps of machines, the wails of ambulances, and the coughs of the people bleeding and maybe dying next to her.

\---------------------------------------------

Mya lends her a computer.

It’s been awhile since she’s even gone on the internet. She flushes briefly with shame realizing she’s never even looked up her family. Until Jon came, when she thought of them, she thought of them in a distant abstract way. These past few weeks, on the phone, rediscovering them has frightened her and invigorated her and worried her. She bites her lips and googles her name. Her social media pops up and a cursory look lets her know that someone is keeping her active. She doesn’t have the passwords, but nothing seems to have been deleted. An article or two about her disappearance shows up on the front page. She pauses to look at the pictures of her family. Her mother looks haggard and brittle in them like she could break at any moment. Her father looks old and tired, so tired. And Robb looks resigned and defeated while Arya looks angry. She swallows and flushes again. She knows, she knows in her heart she did the right thing removing herself from Ramsay’s reach and removing them from him as well. But, maybe she could have done it another way? 

She keeps reading and looking, watches videos of her family pleading for her to come home. Reads leaked police reports from when her parents accused Ramsay and even Theon of killing her. With her father’s job and their ancestry, the Starks are well-known and interesting enough to garner attention, especially with her disappearance. And the Boltons, well. The Boltons were an old family too, not as connected or well off as hers, but Roose had taken over the company that his father owned, a security company that was almost bankrupt and somehow turned it around. No one questioned how because, at the end of the day, money was what counted, not how you got it. The Boltons were tough and vicious and expensive but they were worth it. 

Her parents’ accusations that Ramsay of her disappearance must have stung Roose’s pride. She’d never met him, but when she started dating Ramsay, her father had spoken to her about him. He had warned her that Roose was not the kind of man you get involved with. He was dangerous and cruel, and her father told her, his son didn’t fall far from the tree. But she had, of course, ignored that. Ramsay’s comments to the police painted her a junkie and an idiot who probably wandered off and overdosed. He didn’t seem too worried about it. There was no proof that she’d ever done drugs (she hadn’t) but he was convincing enough that the police gave up pretty quick looking for her. 

Eventually, though, she forces herself to type in Theon’s name in the search bar. Dozens of news articles pop up. All from the last three months. Before that, nothing. It was like he hadn’t existed for some time and then was suddenly thrust into being. November magazines covered his arrest and coming trial. In October news he was a suspect. September was when they found Roose. Theon looked gaunt and damaged standing next to a grieving Ramsay.

Ramsay. She takes a moment to center herself before looking at pictures of him. There is one where his head is bent, hiding his eyes. The caption calls him a somber mourning soul. Another has his eyes closed and his face turned towards the sun. And one with his arms around Theon and that girl he used to bring around who liked when Theon cried. Ramsay made a compelling picture, a handsome grieving son. She swallows the bile in her throat. 

She thinks she might have heard Roose once while she was with Ramsay. She remembers Ramsay locking her in her room and listening at the door while someone talked about the Dragon account. She thinks about it a moment. He might have mentioned Wildlings too. Ramsay got mad but the other voice was cold and controlled. After he left, Ramsay came back to the room and took his frustrations out on her. She wraps her arms around herself and tries to regain some warmth. 

She calls Bran on Thursday. It was almost Christmas, and Davos kicks her out of the kitchen saying she needs a night off. Mya had invited her to a work party, but she’s not in the mood to socials so she begs off. Eventually, she ends up in her pjs, on her bed with printouts of Theon’s articles. She tries not to talk, prefers to let Bran explain.

“They found the body in that pond outside the Manor that the Greyjoys used to own. Remember how Theon used to brag about his ancestry and all the land they once owned?” She does remember that. Before Ramsay got ahold of Theon, he was a braggart and a snob. He loved to tell tall tales about the Greyjoys: how they gained their wealth (and notoriety) by killing and stealing and how that lake played a part in their deeds. He always insisted they fish there so he could tell his stories. He was always so proud of his ancestry. Before. Now he probably didn’t even care. 

“The Karstarks bought the land a couple of years ago from Asha Greyjoy. She owns everything now that their dad died. Her uncles spent all their money, and she’s been selling off all the land. One of Rickard Karstarks grandkids was fishing in the pond and instead pulled out a boot. They had to drain it and that's when they found the body. It’d been there for awhile, but they were able to figure it out through his DNA and some items he had on him.” Bran tells her. 

“I don’t understand how Theon got involved in any of this.” She finally says after a few moments of silence.

“It’s simple,” He tells her calmly. “The Boltons have power and money, even without Roose. No one wants to blame Ramsay despite rumors that he’s violent and that he stood to gain the most because it looks bad for the company. And stocks might drop. Plus he has an alibi. There was some sort of altercation at one of the buildings the Boltons guard. But Theon, well he has no alibi. His family has no money. He’s a junkie. He’s disposable.” She can almost hear Bran shrug. 

“But if someone gave Theon an alibi…”

“That would change things, certainly,” Bran tells her. "Then the police would have to look into Ramsay. Then the things Theon accused him of might be taken more seriously. If Theon had an alibi, there might be trouble for Ramsay." He pauses to take a breath. "Mom and Dad were right, though, weren’t they. He made you disappear even if it wasn’t the way they thought. Ramsay Bolton’s why you didn’t come home.” and then earnestly, kindly. “We can take care of you. We can protect you.” 

“That’s what Jon said.” she says finally, knowing that she’s just damned Jon to furious questioning from Bran. “But no one can protect me. No one can protect anyone from people like him.”

She gets off the phone with Bran and texts Jon. She’s too tired, too drained to talk to him again. Since he called about Theon, she’s limited her interactions to texts. She’s not angry that he told her nothing about Theon. She doesn’t blame him for that secrecy. But something about him makes her vulnerable, and fragile. And she’s afraid if they talk on the phone she might break down and there is far too much for her to do before Christmas. But she can’t cut him completely out of her life. He’s become a constant, a confidante, a friend, and she finds that she needs him in a way she hasn’t needed anyone before. 

She spends the next few days switching so often between being full of holiday cheer and worry for Theon that she gives herself whiplash. But the guests are happy and Shireen is singing Christmas carols, and Mya is wearing ugly sweaters so it’s not so bad. She bakes cookies and puddings. She makes fruit cakes that no one will eat and sets up a gingerbread house contest for the guests. And she thinks about Theon and Jon and her family and home.


	14. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her first Christmas in Flam, her wrist was healing, and she was scared of everyone. But Shireen had asked her to sing Christmas carols with her. And even though she didn’t know some of the Norweigan ones, she sang along as best she could. She only cried once on Christmas Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing except my mistakes which are not limited to grammar, syntax, and fluctuating tenses, but now include my very very very rudimentary knowledge of Christmas traditions in other countries. I kept it vague on purpose in order to not completely mess up any traditions. Any mistakes that I made representing other cultures, I apologize in advance and humbly ask for advice on changing and bettering the story. 
> 
> Additionally, my understanding of how the law and courts work in England is 100% non-existent. So yay made up things? 
> 
> Anyway, here's a little chapter because I was staring at my Christmas tree and feeling a little holidayish.
> 
> Thank you all for continuing to read.

Christmas had always been a favorite time for the Starks. The house lit up from within with wreaths and Christmas lights decorating the outside, a tree in the window, stockings on the mantle, and garland all around while cinnamon filled the air. Catelyn Stark believed in making everything from scratch including eggnog so the house constantly smelled like sugar and spice. Rickon always tried to build snow animals in the front yard and his designs became more and more elaborate as time went on. Robb was very much into the holiday party scene and the memory of his collection of ugly sweaters is what inspired last years ugly sweater party at the B&B. 

The last time Sansa saw her all of her family together was Christmas the year before she disappeared. Arya was her secret santa and gave her the little bird figurine. It was clear it was a last minute pick, but Sansa was fond of it. She had stayed for most of Christmas until she fought with Robb, was cruel to Jon, and went back to her apartment where she found Ramsay angry she had stayed out so late, and Theon nursing swollen and mangled fingers. 

Before she had argued with Robb, before she was cruel to Jon, before she had run home, it had been a nice Christmas. She had baked with her mother and read Christmas stories with Rickon. Her dad had insisted they watch old American Christmas movies together and eat popcorn. He always loved old Hollywood. She had curled up on the couch between him and her mother, dozing while Barbara Stanwyck met a soldier and fell in love and woke to Cary Grant and David Niven arguing over theology and a woman. It had been nice. She almost wishes she could go back and tell herself not to get up from that couch. Not to leave that room and bump into Robb talking to their mother about her. Not to go home and not to stay a whole other year. 

Her first Christmas in Flam, her wrist was healing, and she was scared of everyone. But Shireen had asked her to sing Christmas carols with her. And even though she didn’t know some of the Norweigan ones, she sang along as best she could. She only cried once on Christmas Day. 

They don’t give gifts out, Davos and Shireen. Christmas is more about building traditions, Davos claimed. Truth was, before Sansa/Alayne started working there, Davos was so busy he didn’t have time to buy gifts so he kicked guests out and went on mini adventures with Shireen. And it became their tradition. That first year roped Sansa into it and began to build on it. Three Christmases she’d lived there and each Christmas, Shireen made Christmas Angels in the snow, Davos insisted on hot chocolate in front of the fire, and Alayne picked ice skating like Sansa would as a child. 

This year after they’ve made snow angels and ice skated, Shireen falls asleep in front of the fire. The guests have all gone to bed or are out at the bar, and Sansa sits with Davos in the quiet. 

“If you could help someone,” she starts, her voice soft and wavering a bit. “If you were the only one that could help someone but it meant that you might….” she can’t finish the sentence.

Davos says nothing for a few minutes. He dunks his cookies in his hot chocolate and looks at Shireen bundled up on the couch, a blanket thrown haphazardly over her, her face resting on her small fist. She’s snoring lightly. 

“As a father,” he says “I never wanted my sons, to do anything that put them in danger. I never want Shireen or ye to put yeselves in a position where you can be hurt.” he pauses. “But also as a father, I’d be proud if my daughters helped others, if they did what was right despite the harm it could cause them. I’d worry. I’d care. But I’d be proud and I’d stand behind them every step of the way so they’d know they weren’t alone.” He looks at her, “That they’d never be alone or adrift again.”

\----------------------------------

Little Christmas Eve, they decorate a tree, including their guests in the tradition. Mya comes over and makes hot chocolate from the chocolate an admirer mailed her from Switzerland. Sansa picks up some glittering paper, and they make chains to hang around the tree. Back home, decorations would have already been up and they would be bumming around the house eating and dozing. 

On Christmas Eve, Shireen and Mya insist they go Christmas Caroling so they bundle up and walk from house to house singing. Sansa has been in Flam long enough to know some of the songs and traditions now, and she helps Shireen and a few of her friends dress up. They eat enough cookies and drink enough hot chocolate that they end up having a sleepover at the B&B. Sansa spies Davos standing the doorway smiling at group stretched out beneath the tree. When she catches his eye, he winks. 

Christmas Day itself comes with little fanfare in Norway. But Sansa is British, and this is her day. So she makes a breakfast fit for a king and watches with Shireen as their guests exchange gifts over sausages. She slips a little collage she made for Shireen underneath Shireen’s breakfast tray and sends Jon a picture of the snow angels they made on Christmas Eve wishing him a very Merry Christmas. His response is a disgruntled Ghost wearing a Santa hat surrounded by slumbering puppies. There is a little white and brown one tucked dozing on his front paw that she just knows is Lady. She runs her fingers over the screen as if she could pet them. 

Before lunch, she sneaks outside to call home. Her mother answers it.

“Merry Christmas!” Catelyn’s voice is bright and warm. Sansa swallows and swallows again. She can’t breathe. She can’t think. “Hello?”

“Mama” her voice cracks. She clutches the phone Jon gave her. Begins to draw strength from the pride he would feel knowing she was calling home. She thinks about Davos and Shireen, and if they were parted. 

“Sansa. Sansa darling.” her mother’s voice cracks as well. “Darling. Oh, my darling.”

“Merry Christmas, Mama.” She breathes a little easier. She doesn’t know what to say, but Merry Christmas seems like a good start. And then she thinks on Bran, how he eased her in that first time, telling her about life. She looks up at the sky and feels the snow on her face. “It’s snowing where I am but I have a warm jacket. I ate a full breakfast. What...what are you doing?”

Her mother lets out a soft watery laugh. Then a sharp inhale as if she too had to gather strength.

“We are almost ready to eat. I made a goose this year which Jon and Bran are checking on. They’ve been in there for ages. God knows what they are talking about. Rickon made a mess of the living room this morning, but he got the game console he wanted. Your father refuses to believe all of his children are grown up so he waited until midnight last night to leave the presents because Robb told him Rickon still thinks Santa is real. He even left snowy footprints on my hallway floors. And he ate all the pies Robb left out. I’m not even sure he has room for dinner. Arya’s boyfriend is on his way. We’re waiting for him. It’s just us this year. Your Aunt Lysa and Uncle Petyr can’t come because Robin is sick, and Edmure is staying with my father. Your Uncle Benjen might stop by but no promises.”

“That sounds lovely.” Sansa whispers. 

“We miss you, sweetie.” Her mother sighs. “You’re warm? Are you alone?”

“I’m okay, mama.” She smiles into the phone and looks up to find Davos leaning out the door with a scarf. She takes it from him, pausing the briefly squeeze his hands. “I have friends who are taking good care of me. And who I’m helping too. I just. I just wanted to call and say Merry Christmas. And tell you I love you. And I miss you.”

“We love and miss you too.” There is a pause. “Call soon?”

“I will. Goodbye.” her mother isn’t the only one reluctant to get off the phone. Still, she has lunch with cook and guests to take care of. She hangs up and turns to go back inside, but Davos motions for them to walk a little.

“Come with me for a moment.” He says. She wraps the scarf around her neck and they walk away from the building. “It’s no secret, Sansa, that I care for ye. You’ll always be me other daughter. I’ve something for ye, with no pressure or expectation.” He hands her an envelope. “I talked to some people I know and was able to get you this. It’s a flight voucher. It’s good for a year and you can go wherever you want, no questions asked.” He gently grips her shoulders and turns her so she can look him straight in the eyes. “You will always, always, have a place here with us. That will never change, If you go by Sansa or Alayne. If you go home or somewhere else. You will always have a place with us.” 

That night she finally calls Jon. It’s late and she’s not sure he’s still up. She waited because she was afraid and ashamed that they haven’t really talked in so long. 

“Merry Christmas, sweet girl,” he says when he answers the phone. His voice is hushed and warm and just a little sleepy. It sends an odd shiver down her body. 

“Merry Christmas, Jon.” she whispers back. “Did you have a good day?” 

“Mmmhmm.” she hears him shift a little and she wonders if he’s still at the Stark house or back home. “I missed you. Ghost did too. I’m glad you called. I was hoping you would.”

“Did you wait up for me?”

“Mmmhmmm” He has to be half asleep. “How was your day?”

“Quiet” she tells him. “It’s different here.” and she tells him about the town's traditions and the songs she’s learned. Eventually, she hears him breathing soft and slow. He’d waited up for her and now he was asleep. She huffs out a laugh. 

“Good night, Jon.” she whispers just before she hangs up. “I’m glad you waited for me.”

\-------------------------------  
The week building up to New Years is slow. Most of the guests are in and out skiing or partying. That warm Christmas vibe has made way for new beginnings and parties. She spends a lot of time looking into Theon’s situation. From what she can read and understand, it doesn’t look good which she doesn't understand because they don’t seem to have any proof or real evidence. It’s all hearsay and conjecture. But somehow they are spinning it into something conclusive. She finds herself on edge and restless again. 

Mya has plans for them for New Years, she informs Sansa. But she wants to try something new on Sansa’s hair. Alayne was always willing to go along with Mya’s plans and so Sansa finds herself bundled up in Mya’s apartment, head over the sink while Mya tells her all about the German boy she met a few weeks ago who is still sending her racy pictures. 

“He doesn’t speak Norwegian and his English is spotty at best. So we send each other pictures. Who needs words when you have video chat?” Mya laughs as she rinses off Sansa’s hair. “Now don’t look. I want it to be a surprise. Start the New Year off right. I even already picked out an outfit for you.” 

While her hair dries, they drink a hot toddy and watch “A Black Adders Christmas Carol” and eat fattigmann fresh from the oven. And even though they’ve done this a million times, cookies and a movie and hair dye, something about it feels different. Mya makes her keep her eyes closed while she blowdries and curls her hair. 

“Now don’t fuss and don’t look in the mirror.” Mya tells her. “Put this on.” She hands her a plain black dress. “I’ve stockings so you stay warm. Go get dressed.”

Sansa hasn’t worn a dress in ages and at first, it feels a bit odd. When she finally is allowed to look in the mirror, she’s not sure where to start. The dress is a simple black dress that hits just before her knees and has a scoop neckline. It’s nothing fancy but it’s pretty and she likes the way the hemline swishes a little when she moves. But it’s her hair that throws her. Mya dyed it red. Sansa red. 

“Alayne,” Mya breathes. “You look amazing.”

“How did you...why did you…” she gapes at Mya.

“Your hair?” Mya laughs, the fond throaty laugh Sansa has come to know so well. “I remember the first time I dyed your hair. You had red roots and an ugly flat brown that clearly wasn’t natural. Don’t you think it’s time to go natural? For the new year?”

They meet up with Myranda at the pub where they bump into dumbstruck Pyp and Grenn and an overly enthusiastic Tormund. Even Brienne is there, convinced somehow by Mya, to stick around for New Years. Everyone is enthusiastic about her hair and dress. Mya convinces her to take a picture which she sends to Jon and Davos. 

“I shoulda known,” Tormund says upon seeing her “A redhead. Has Jon seen ya? You look…” and then he gives her an exaggerated wink. “Save me a dance.” The attention is light and carefree, and she has a much better time than she expected. At midnight Jon calls and she steps outside beneath the clear sky. 

“Happy New Year, Jon.” She smiles into the phone. 

“Happy New Years, Sansa. You look beautiful.” She can’t place his tone of voice but it’s gentle and admiring. “I wish I was there with you.”

“I wish you were too.” She shivers a little and wishes she had grabbed a scarf. Inside the bar, she sees Tormund attempting to dance with Brienne while Pyp and Grenn do shots with Myranda and Mya. She breathes in the crisp cool air and they talk a little longer. After she hangs up, she gets a picture of him cuddling Ghost. He looks tired but good with his hair pulled back. He looks handsome, and she finds herself touching the screen before pocketing it and going back inside.


	15. A New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mya’s words keep running through her mind. Going natural for the New Year. Being herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, friends! I hope this update finds you well. 
> 
> Thank you for all the support in 2017. I hope this story continues to hold your attention and interest in 2018. I wanted to start the new year off right, with a brief update to get the story moving again. 
> 
> Sending you all good vibes and best wishes!

Mya’s words keep running through her mind. Going natural for the New Year. Being herself. She keeps catching glimpses of herself in the mirror, the red grabbing her attention. She’s not used to her hair yet at the same time, she feels more settled, more like herself. And she feels emboldened, like when she was young before she met Joffrey, her first boyfriend, before her uncle started looking at her and trying to touch her, and long before Ramsay. 

She thinks about it. Sleeps on it. Lets it run through her mind constantly. And she wonders what would happen if she went home. At night, before she crawls into bed, she pulls out the voucher and looks at it. 

During the day, she takes care of the kitchen. Tourist season doesn’t quite stop until the end of January. It’s peak time to see the Northern Lights and snow still covers the ground making for some fantastic skiing and snowshoe adventures so she’s busy but not too busy. At Christmas, most of their customers wanted to stay in and embrace that nostalgic warmth that the holidays bring. Now that it’s over, they are out and about asking for less of her. 

She and Jon talk more but about less. She’s not sure what happened on New Years but it feels like something is different. That their interactions are changing. She gets a little flustered when he calls or video chats. He seems softer sometimes too. And she’s not sure what it means. But she knows she gets giddy at the idea of talking to him. And she misses him. And she misses Ghost. She pays for another few months of the phone before he can offer. She has money. She’s just never had anything to use it on. 

She calls home once every few days, aiming for times when she knows Bran is around. Although she spoke with her mother, she’s not comfortable talking to her yet. But Bran is gentle with her, and their conversations always start with him easing her into it like she’s a skittish animal. Maybe she is.

“Tell me more about Theon,” she says one day after he’s spent a good ten minutes explain the newest club their parents signed Rickon up for in an effort to drain his energy. He’s up to a different club a day, plus football after school. It isn’t working. 

“There’s not much to tell,” he says carefully. “Asha Greyjoy is still hounding Mum and Dad. Somehow hospital videos that proved Theon was with you went missing. Ramsay Bolton claims you never broke your wrist or went to the A&E. He says he feels terrible because Theon was such a dear friend of his. Have you seen any of his video interviews?” 

She whispers no. It’s hard to watch those videos and listen to that convincing voice of his. She remembers how it would whisper in her ear before he hurt her or how his apologies sounded.

“He’s very convincing,” Bran says finally.

“I know.” She says. “I know.” They don’t talk much more that night. 

When she goes to bed that night she dreams of being in the forest again. Theon is there too. He looks lost and confused, limping along. She follows him for awhile in the dark. She can hear him breathe, heavy and panicked. He’s calling out her name like he’s searching for her. His voice is worried. She tries to reach him, tries to say something but her voice is caught, her throat closed up. 

And then she hears Ramsay’s voice behind them both. He says Theon’s name over and over. He’s mocking him, cooing at him. His voice is deceptively low and soft like when he would come home after a disappointing day. 

“Theon” he croons. “Oh, Theon. Come home. I’ve missed you.” He whistles and she can hear dogs running towards them. They rush past her. She feels Ramsay warm and solid behind her, and he pushes past her. And as he goes to touch Theon, she finds her voice. 

She wakes up screaming. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

“I dreamt about Theon.” she texts Bran the next morning. It’s the first text she has sent to any of her siblings. She doesn’t wait for a response but instead calls Jon. It’s early enough that he hasn’t gone to work yet. 

“Good morning, Sansa.” He sounds exhausted but pleased. 

“Hi Jon.” hearing him on the phone, she suddenly doesn’t want to tell him about Theon. She wants to take away his exhaustion. “You on the way to work?”

“Yeah. Running late. It’s been...It’s been a long week.” 

“Oh?” she can hear him moving about. She likes to imagine him making a cup of tea. 

“I found out some information, and I’m not sure what it means. It has to do with, with Ramsay.” 

“Tell me.” She doesn’t recognize her voice. She sounds firm and strong. It doesn’t waver a bit.

“Did you know the Bolton’s company provides the security for my aunt’s company? I just found this out.” 

“The Dragon account.” She says remembering Ramsay’s argument with his father. “Dragons are the unofficial mascot of your aunt’s company, aren’t they?” 

“Aye. They are.”

“The alibi.” Sansa thinks out loud. “You didn’t know this before?”

“No. I just found out the other day when he stopped by. I...Sansa...what you told me...when I saw him... ” she can hear the anger and disgust in his voice. 

“Jon.” She says firmly. “You are not to do anything about Ramsay.” 

“Sansa…”

“Jon,” she says softer. “Go to work. Everything is okay.”

As soon as she gets off the phone, she starts thinking. She didn’t know a lot about the Targaryens except that they owned a lot of buildings and companies and pretty much anything made, was made by them. They were constantly expanding. According to Jon, they weren’t particularly environmentally friendly but that was changing. Why now? And Ygritte had died protesting deforestation of the North which, if she remembered correctly, the Bolton’s owned property in. If Roose wanted to get in good with them, he might have been interested in selling his property. But if there were complications about building up North, why would a company build there?

She looks at her phone. Bran texted her back. 

“He didn’t see you or hear you because you weren’t there.”

\----------------------------------------------------

Davos is, of course, completely understanding.

“You can always come back,” he says when they are alone in the kitchen drinking tea. “I’ll get an interim cook.”

“I hate to leave you in a lurch.” She says, worrying her lower lip. “I’ll make sure you are fully stocked and that the fishermen all honor my deals.”

“I think I can handle a few meals. I’ll see if the cafe will take care of breakfast. We’ll do sandwiches for lunch. Dinner’ll have to be a little fancier. But we can do it. Don’t ye worry. We can do it.”

“I am sorry. I just…”

“We have to do it. I knew it was coming. It’s time.” he reaches over and squeezes her hand.

The next two weeks are jam-packed with stocking the pantries and preparing the kitchen. She bakes more breads and freezes them. She writes down easy dinner recipes for Davos and Shireen. She convinces Mya to stop in once a week to help cook. She makes deals with Pyp and Grenn. A extracts a promise from Brienne to stop by as much as she can and check on them.

Within days, the entire town knows she’s leaving. Half think she’s running off to be with Jon and the other half thinks she’s running away for a fresh start. She knows this because Myranda enjoys telling her. Mya just laughs. But no one, no one asks her where she is going. 

Everything feels rushed and fast-forwarded when she finally decides to go home. It’s like she blinked once after deciding to leave and is suddenly being driven to the airport. Tormund takes her, but most of the town sees her off. She stops by the B&B to say goodbye to Davos only to find everyone there. She’s hugged and wished well at least a hundred times. One of the baristas from the cafe shoves a sandwich in her hand “in case she gets hungry on the plane” while someone else hands her a scarf for “where ever she is going.” 

She hugs Shireen and Mya for awhile, promising to call and write. She tries not to cry. Davos holds her gently and whispers how proud he is. They all wave as she gets into Tormund’s car and drives away. When she turns back to look out the window, they are all still there watching her drive away. 

Tormund lets her go at the airport with a gruff “Tell Jon, I say hello.” And then she is alone. 

Except. 

She looks at her phone and smiles, sending out a quick text. 

It’s a short two-hour flight and when she arrives, she’s taken aback by the bustle of the airport. Flam moves a little slower. She's jostled a little by her fellow passengers and has to assert herself at the baggage claim. Still, she reminds herself that she’s Sansa Stark, come home, and that there is someone waiting for her outside this terminal. 

And sure enough, he’s there. Waiting. Slouching against the wall, trying so hard not to look nervous or impatient. He looks older than the last time she saw him, tired and a little worn. And when he looks up and catches her eye, he straightens up with a hesitant smile. She wants to cry. She wants to hug him and hit him and shout at him. But she hands him her bag with a smile as hesitant as his. 

“Hello Robb.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't speak on the walk to the car, but Robb, carrying her bag, keeps looking back to make sure she’s still there just like he did when she was a little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I don't own a thing except for these pesky mistakes and my gratitude for the support you all have given me. 
> 
> This is just a little reunion chapter. Keeping this chapter a little simpler.

They don't speak on the walk to the car, but Robb, carrying her bag, keeps looking back to make sure she’s still there just like he did when she was a little girl. She had adored her older brother from the moment she was born, following him everywhere she could, begging him to play with her. And he would even though Theon made fun of him. He would go to her tea parties or princess towers. He’d build her forts out of blankets and play in them with her. And when she followed behind him and Theon as they ventured out into the great backyard, he would slow his walk so she could keep up, looking over his shoulder constantly to make sure she was okay, that she hadn’t tripped or fallen or hurt herself, looking back to make sure she was still there. 

He tosses her bag into the backseat while she climbs into the front. When he starts the car, the radio blares to life with the lively beats of a pop singer she knows Shireen listens to. Robb flushes and mutters something about one of his girlfriends, quickly turning it off. Old Sansa would have teased him about it. But this Sansa gives him a brief smile and remembers to text Davos that she’s arrived. He responds immediately, and she knows he and Shireen have been waiting to hear from her. She smiles down at her phone but then goes blank when she realizes Robb has been watching her. 

Truth is, she’s not sure how she’s supposed to react. She had idolized her older brother to the point that she forgot he was human and fallible. And when they fought, when she realized that he wasn’t always going to agree with her and take care of her, a little part of her just crumpled. Fair or not, she had been devastated to realize that he would not always blindly support her. She would never be the same girl who thought her big brother would always protect her and take care of her, would shelter her and coddle her. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe she had needed to grow up and learn to be strong on her own.

She doesn’t blame anyone for her involvement with Ramsay. But her naivety had in many ways been enabled by her family. She should have known some people are not good people. It was no one’s fault and sitting in the car with Robb as it warmed up, having learned that lesson many times over, she knows good or bad, fair or unfair, sometimes a person learns things a violent way. The only person at fault here is Ramsay. 

“Thank you for coming,” she says finally, formally, holding her hands to heaters. “I appreciate it.” She doesn’t look at him, preferring to stare straight ahead. 

“Of course.” The car lurches forward as he finally starts it moving. “I...anytime. Anything.” She can see that his knuckles are almost white from how hard he is holding the steering wheel. He’s as uncomfortable as she is. 

They drive in silence for awhile. It’s a long drive from the airport and traffic is congested, but they still don’t put on any music. She can hear him starting and stopping himself from talking. Can hear him swallow and breathe. 

“Sansa, I…”

“It’s not your…”

They start at the same time. He coughs a little, and without turning to look at her, gestures for her to speak.

“I didn’t leave because of you.” She clutches the edges of her new scarf. It’s bright and cheerful and reminds her of Flam. She takes a breath. “I need you to know that. And you weren’t why I didn’t come back. It wasn’t about you, Robb.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” His words burst out, slurring a little as he rushes to get them out. He hasn’t let go of the wheel. “I should never of... I never meant any... I love you. I missed you. I am so sorry.”

“I know. I know.” She starts crying then. Silent sobs that make her shoulders shake. She squeezes the scarf tightly, bringing it to her face. It smells like snow and cold. It smells like the hot chocolate at the cafe and the ocean late at night. It smells like the docks and the earth. She starts to calm. 

He pulls the car over to the side of the road amidst honking and hand gestures. He turns to look at her, reaches out to grab her, maybe he meant to hold her, but it’s too much too soon and though logically she knows he’s her brother and he would never hurt her, she flinches. He goes white. 

“Sansa…” He starts. He is clenching his hands in his lap. His eyes are wide and distressed. 

“It’s okay, Robb.” She has stopped crying, and she turns to look at him. They sit inches away, not touching. “You were partially right, back then. He should never have come. I should never have allowed him into my life.” She tentatively touches the back of his hand. He doesn’t move. “But you were also wrong. I wasn’t that person you said I was, and I know” she interrupts him before he can apologize or take it back, “I know you didn’t mean it. But I need you to know that I wasn’t that person. I was someone none of us recognized, that’s true, but I’m not her any longer. I am also not the little girl I was. I’m not ready to talk about it to you yet. And” she pauses, slowly taking her hand back before he can squeeze it or hold on. “I don’t think you are ready to hear it.” 

He nods and turns back to the road. They drive silently the rest of the way. 

The house looks the same. It’s a big house, but then they are a big family with a decent amount of money. It’s not ostentatious or overwhelming. It looks inviting and homey. It sits on land that has been in the family for ages, where once a grand castle sat that was eventually demolished, and where her father’s father built instead a sturdy brick home. It’s a nice home that gets good sunlight and stays warm in the winter. And in front of it stands her mother, bundled up in the cold staring out at the road. Her red hair, so like Sansa’s, is bright against the gray day. She’s wearing a dark navy winter jacket and a green scarf that Sansa had made when she was in Year 6 and was teaching herself to make clothing. She looks beautiful and tall and strong.

Sansa dallys in the car for a moment while Robb gets out and talks to their mother. She needs a moment to take it all in. Staring at this home that she grew up in, she feels rubbed raw and uncomfortable like a shirt that's stretched too far. She swallows once, twice, and gets out of the car. Her mother and Robb move closer to the car.

“Sansa,” her mother breathes out softly, holding her hand out. Sansa takes it for a second, squeezes it, and lets go. Robb grabs her duffle, and Sansa follows them both into the silent house. 

“Rickon has taken the dogs for a long long walk,” her mother says with a laugh as they pass through the hallway shedding coats and boots as they do. She loses her boots, but keeps the coat on, shoving her hands deep into her pockets. 

The pictures on the walls are mostly the same with a few additions. These are moments that she has missed: Rickon playing football, Arya fencing, Robb dressed up and grinning, Bran graduating, all these important moments she missed. She swallows again and clenches her fists.

The backdoor springs open and she hears the clamoring of paws. She has only a few seconds before a herd of puppies descends upon her. They are excited and rambunctious and shes on the floor surrounded by them, giggling before she knows it. They wiggle and squirm about her, licking her face and hands and anywhere they can reach.

“Sansa!” cries out Rickon moments behind the puppies. “Sansa!!!” he screams diving into the puppy pile. His hair is long and curly, red like hers and Robbs. He peers up at her, grinning openly and happily. “You came home!”

Her room is the same, but different. She ran away saying she was jetlagged and no one protested. She dumped her duffle and began examining her room while Lady the puppy dozes on her bed with Rickon. The first thing Sansa examines is the mural on her wall. It’s a loving rendition of her favorite fairytale, painstakingly reimagined on her wall. Its beautiful and historic. She wonders if she’ll meet the girl who painted it. It’s something Sansa of old would have swooned about because of the romance of the story. This Sansa who is part Alayne can appreciate the attention to detail and artistic talent without even thinking about the story. 

Rickon snores a little, and Lady huffs. On the floor Shaggydog enthusiastically tears apart a stuffed frog. She can hear a car pull up. She peers out her window and watches her father step out of the car. He looks up like he can feel the weight of her stare. And he smiles. Oh, how he smiles like the sun has come after a long cold wait. And she smiles back.

She gently wakes Rickon, who grabs hold of her hand and doesn't let go, even walking down the stairs. They make their way to the door, puppies at their feet, still holding hands to find her father taking off his coat.

“Sansa,” he says, voice warm and gruff. “welcome home.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Arya and Bran arrived not long after her father. Arya says nothing, but nods her way and wanders off to call her boyfriend. It's so very anticlimactic, but very Arya. Bran smiles and welcomes her home, his voice as calming in person as it was on the phone. Robb flits in and out of the living room where Rickon has sequestered Sansa to explain his video games. Rickon is possessive of her attention while Robb keeps checking to see if she’s still there. She can smell dinner wafting out from the kitchen, her mother making one of her favorites. 

She’s exhausted, overwhelmed. The puppies demand as much attention as Rickon. Robb’s guilt and sorrow weigh her down. She can sense her parent’s tentative joy and careful handling of her. She can feel the war in Arya, anger mixed with relief. Sansa wants to call Davos and Shireen. She wants to hear their voices and sit with Davos by the fire where he is silent and still, where Shireen asks to have her hair braided and all she needs to do is be, where there are no expectations. 

Her family means well. She knows it’s been a long time. They are different. She is different. It all feels wrong and confusing. She has no idea what Rickon is talking about but she nods along and smiles when it seems appropriate. When her mother sends Rickon outside with the puppies for their afternoon walk, she can only sink down into the couch and treasure the momentary reprieve. She closes her eyes.

And then, the pitter patter of bigger feet. A cold nose nudges her hand, and she opens her eyes to see Ghost. She smiles.

“Hello brother wolf.” he wags his tail. “Hello, Ghost.” She bends down to kiss his head. 

“He missed you, you know.” a gruff voice she recognizes says behind her. She whirls around to see him, smiling that half smile of his. “You didn’t tell us you’d be coming home.”

“Jon.” she breathes out. She wants to get up and hug him or touch him, and his face tells her he feels the same way. But before she can move, Robb joins them.

“Jon.” Robb sounds excited and happy. “Sansa’s come back.”

“I can see that.” Jon smirks a little. She huffs out a laugh and buries her face in Ghost’s fur. “Good to see you again, Sansa.”


	17. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s wedged between Rickon and Ghost who lays his head on her lap and gazes up at her like he cannot bear to look away. Her mother looks at her the same way, like one blink and she’ll disappear. It’s equal parts off-putting and flattering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to be honest, this is a little filler chapter while I do a bit of research. 
> 
> As always, any mistakes are my own. I own nothing but those mistakes. 
> 
> And thank you for reading. I wish I could hug every one of you personally.

Dinner is a riotous affair. By the time Rickon and the puppies have returned, Arya is off the phone, someone has set the table, and Sansa finds herself herded into the dining room like a treasured guest. She feels like a guest in this house that no longer really feels like home. She’s wedged between Rickon and Ghost who lays his head on her lap and gazes up at her like he cannot bear to look away. Her mother looks at her the same way, like one blink and she’ll disappear. It’s equal parts off-putting and flattering. 

She doesn’t say much, but then she doesn’t have to. Rickon fills any silences with the plans he has for her. Something about football games and ice cream. Walks in the park and introduction to all his friends and maybe his coach. Arya argues with their father unceasingly for access to the car while every moment is peppered with their mother asking if Sansa has enough to eat, and Robb offering to refill her drink. 

She catches Jon’s eye. He’s biting his lip, and she knows he’s trying not to laugh. It is funny. It’s not funny. She can’t breathe in this place, suffocated by love. Bran is watching her, like he knows. He always knows. He sits beside her, Ghost between them, an adoring buffer. And he puts his hand gently on Ghost’s back, rubbing slowly and softly. Soothing. His hands don’t come near her, but he does look away. 

Jon takes that moment to distract Robb with a story about work while Bran asks their mother for more potatoes. So Sansa picks at her food and lets their voices wash over her. When their attention is not directed at her, it’s easier to be there. She looks up to find her father watching her, his eyes dark and warm. He says nothing, just looks at her and she remembers Davos telling her that it was hard for a parent, not knowing. And maybe right now she doesn’t have to belong or be who she was. Maybe for right now, knowing she was at least safe and warm is enough. She looks back at him and wills him to know how safe and warm she feels right now. 

After dinner, she steps outside. The air is crisp and clear as she stands, watching the stars. She can’t see the northern lights, and so the sky is darker than she remembers. She watches her breath puff out. Smells pines and snow. It smells different than back in Flam. When she hears the door behind her, she tenses. 

“Just me.” Jon steps out and lights a cigarette. Her shoulders drop and she turns towards him. “You are a sight. Here. Best thing I’ve seen in awhile.” He reaches over and tugs on her braid. 

“You just miss my cooking.”

“Aye. That I do. Your mother is good, though. She can’t bake like you, but that chicken that you pretended to eat was delicious.”

“I wasn’t hungry.” She inches closer to him. He stands still as a statue and lets her until she is inches away. 

“You were nervous. It’s okay to be nervous.” He stubs his cigarette out and turns until they are facing each other. “I’d like to…would you mind if I...” He slowly lifts an arm. 

“Please.” She whispers, and he wraps that arm around her and then the other. And then she is clutching his back, face tucked into his neck where the cold air meets his warmth. She breathes him in. He smells like cinnamon and earth and Christmas in Flam. He smells like the pines behind the house and her mother’s cooking. He smells like both homes at once. 

“I have missed you.” He says. And then she can almost feel the smirk. “Ghost too.”

Her laugh is only a little watery. She reluctantly pulls away, not ready to be found by her family. His arms are slow to drop, gently brushing her arms as they part. She sniffs a little. 

“I think you missed me too.” He says finally, his smile small but real. 

“It’s cold, Jon. Go inside.” She pushes him gently but before he can open the door, she grabs his hand. “I did. Miss you.”

\----------------------------

They take it slow, the Starks do, getting reacquainted with her. After the first time, Arya burst into her room and Sansa screams, they learn to knock. When her father touches her shoulder to let her know he’s passing behind her and she cringes away, they stop trying to touch her. There is pity in their eyes, and she hates it. There is pity but there is also love so she tries to accept it. The forced gentleness they show her is cloying though and she longs for the gruff acceptance of Flam. And then she flushes with shame for wanting to be away from this family that loves her so wholeheartedly. 

She cannot help her solemnity, her aloofness. She was like this in Flam, only they knew her as always that way. Alayne was shy. Alayne was reserved. These were facts. Alayne only opened up for Shireen and Mya and Davos and that young man, Jon Snow, who showed up in October. Her family, though, doesn’t know her as Alayne.

Young Sansa was bold and naive. She was a mix of youthful vanity and cheerful friendliness. She was loud in a family where to be heard meant to be louder than the others. She sang well and often. She teased her siblings as much as they teased her. She danced about with stars in her eyes. And even when she was with Ramsay, when she was at home, she was still mostly the same. She fought fiercely and sometimes meanly. She could be rude sometimes. But she was also affection and obvious in her love. 

Now she’s somewhere between Sansa and Alayne. Affectionate only to Ghost and the puppies. Teasing only Rickon and Jon. Open only with Bran. But trying. Trying so hard.

So she takes over breakfast to show her love. She’s used to the early mornings so it’s easy to gets up early enough to let the dogs out, start the tea and coffee, and bake something before anyone else even opens their eyes. It gives her time before everyone is awake to reorient herself, prepare herself for the noise. It also gives her a chance to say I love you through food. 

She also takes those moments to touch in with Flam. She video chats with Davos and Shireen mostly. Sometimes Mya, if Mya remembers to get up early enough. She texts them throughout the day, but these morning chats become a ritual. They compare breakfasts or she walks Davos through baking.It’s like being back at Flam a little.

Shireen is always excited and overjoyed to see her that Sansa feels inspired to share this life with her. She takes the phone outside, shows off the land and the dogs and the front of the house. Despite being so far away, despite having a different name, their conversations are still as easy as ever. They tease Davos, they gossip a little, and Shireen complains about school. Sansa is still giggling after their last conversation when she finds her mother in the kitchen doorway watching her. 

“Mum. Hi. Good morning. I made scones.” She busies herself with pouring the tea and plating a scone. 

“You still laugh the same.” Her mother says, accepting them and turning to leave the kitchen. “It’s lovely to hear.” 

It’s easier when Jon or Rickon is around. Rickon naturally distracts and draws the attention away from her. He’s constantly in scraps, exasperating their mother, amusing their father, and being this dominating personality. But with him comes the puppies, except Lady who has taken to following Sansa around, and with them comes noise and chaos. It’s a lot for Sansa to take, but it does keep the attention off her. And with Jon is that ease born out of their time in Flam. She’s comfortable with him and that makes interacting with everyone else a little easier. 

In the back of her mind, though, she knows she has to face some of her demons eventually. Coming back has been good so far. Her family never says anything about Theon or Ramsay. They haven’t even told anyone she’s back, and she’s been back for a little while, long enough that in ordinary situations her aunt and uncles would have stopped by. Old family friends would have dropped off food or stayed for tea. But this isn’t an ordinary situation, and it’s time to accept that, face that. 

One night after dinner, she grabs Jon’s arm. Her mother is occupied with Rickon, her father’s in his study, and Robb and Bran are washing dishes. Arya seems distracted, but it doesn’t matter.

“I need to talk to you.” She whispers. He looks over at Arya, but she’s busy clearing the table. He nods. In some unspoken agreement, they still haven’t told anyone about Flam. She believes Bran knows, but since no one else has addressed it, she can only assume neither he nor Jon has mentioned Jon’s stay with her. It’s a matter for another day, she thinks. She leads them outside.

“I think I need to see Theon.” She says before he can finish putting on his coat. 

“What.” he half laughs. He shrugs the rest of his coat on. 

“I need to see Theon.” She clasps her hands together tightly. “I need to get in touch with Asha Greyjoy and see him. Will you come with me? I want you with me.” 

“Yes. Of...of course.” Jon nods and gently takes her hands, unclasps them so he can hold them. “Of course, I’ll go with you.”


	18. Visitation Rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha Greyjoy had the same eyes as Theon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I own absolutely nothing but the mistakes in grammar/spelling/syntax/etc as well as any mistaken representations of other countries. (corrections/advice most welcome.)
> 
> Apologies for the delay. I struggled with this chapter. But I hope it lives up to expectations. Thanks for bearing with me and continuing to read this story!

Asha Greyjoy has the same eyes as Theon. She sits stiffly across the table from Sansa in a cheerful cafe looking right at Sansa. And all Sansa could think is, Theon has similar eyes. It wasn’t just the shape or the color, there was a hardness. No, Theon’s eyes weren’t hard. It was a bleakness in their eyes that was similar as if resigned to this life. But Asha’s eyes also had a hardness, a directness that Theon never did. Sansa is the first to look away.

Jon sits only a few tables away, typing on his computer. He looks up and catches her eye. She smiles reassuringly. They had agreed, if she felt uncomfortable, she’d let him know with a look, and he would stop the conversation. He was her backup plan/her bodyguard/her knight in armor at least for this. Asha looks over at Jon as well, nods, and looks back at Sansa. 

“I thought you’d be prettier,” Asha says finally. “The way he talked about you like you was something special. I thought you’d be prettier” She has a low voice, low and flat but not unpleasant. Asha isn’t necessarily pretty herself, but she is compelling. Looking Sansa straight on, never wavering, chin up and proud, Asha is compelling. 

Theon once told her that he didn’t have much love for his family but he respected his sister. That he envied her strength, her resilience, her convictions especially when facing their overbearing father and violent or fanatical uncles. One night after Ramsay’s attention, Theon whispered to her over a glass of water and too many bandages, that Asha would have fought back. Then he whispered that he would try next time to shield her.

Two days later, he was high as a kite unable to feel anything, unable to see anything as Ramsay dragged her from the kitchen to the bedroom. 

“I thought you’d be taller,” Sansa says, taking a sip of her tea. “Theon made you out to be a giant of strength and willpower.” Asha half smiles and finally, blessedly looks away, down at her tea. 

“He always thought better of people than they really were. Thought better of himself, one time too.” She says looking up. “I have a theory about you, a hope really. Tell me. Why are you here? Why did you want to meet with me.”

“I want to see Theon,” Sansa tells her. If she was a different person, if Asha was a different person too, she might have reached out her hand to touch Asha’s. Maybe to give comfort. Maybe to plead. But she’s not that person and neither is Asha. So instead, she sips her tea and looks unflinchingly back at Asha. “I need to see Theon. And I wanted your blessing before doing so.”

Asha nods. Looks away and then back. 

“He told me what Ramsay did. To him. To you. He cried when he told me what Ramsay liked to do to you. How he never stopped him. Then he begged forgiveness. Forgiveness I can’t give. So tell me, why are you here?”

“I’m here to help.” 

\---------------------------------------

Theon is as gray as his uniform, Sansa thinks, as he’s let into the common room. His hair hangs in his face, curling slight. It’s greasy. He looks like he hasn’t washed in days. She can only imagine the accommodations, can only assume that Ramsay has friends in prison, maybe even the police. She watches him drag his feet towards them, weighed down by life and possibly a broken toe. He doesn’t look up when he sits at their table. 

“Asha, I’ve told you to stop coming.” He says after a few moments of silence. His cuffed hands are clenched in his lap. He won’t look up. Asha stands behind her, clenching and unclenching her hands. Jon, her ever watchful friend, has given them space but refused to let her go alone. 

“Hello, Theon,” Sansa says finally, and has the pleasure of watching Theon’s head jerk up, his mouth opening and closing. 

“Sansa,” he chokes out. “What are you...How are you…” He bites his lip and looks back down at his hands. Then he looks up. “You look good.” he pauses. “Healthy.”

“Thank you.” She isn’t sure what to say now that she is sitting in front of him. “You look…”

His laugh is coarse and rough like he’s forgotten how to laugh; like it hurts to laugh. 

“Don’t.” He smiles, and for a second he looks like the boy she used to know. “What are you doing here, Sansa. If he knows…You’ll ruin things.”

He looks sincere and worried. He knows something, she thinks. He knows something and that’s why Ramsay has to get rid of him. Ramsay can’t control him any longer, and he knows something. 

“I want to help, Theon. Your sister wants me to help. But I need you to tell me what you know.”

He stares at her for a few, his eyes searching her face. 

“Start with telling me how you met Ramsay,” she says gently. “Let’s go from there.”

His hands land in his lap and he looks down again. He nods.

“Okay.”

\----------------

She bullet points his story when she gets home. After dinner, she excuses herself and barricades herself in her room. As she begins to plot out everything Theon told her, she can hear Rickon cajoling Bran into playing a video game and Robb saying goodbye. He has an apartment near Jon so they rode in together. Her mother is baking in the kitchen, ginger biscuits if the smell was anything to go by. Arya has a date. Her father is, of course, locked away in his office hard at work. Lady is in the room with her, snoozing on her bed. No one is looking for her. The novelty of her has sort of worn off. Everyone goes on with life as usual, though she can almost feel them relax when she’s in sight, like in those five minutes since they saw her last she might have disappeared again. 

She looks at her notebook. Theon told her he met Ramsay at some party near the University though neither of them went there. He’d gone to score some coke. He’d tried some with Robb once and wanted to party again. But Robb wasn’t interested. Robb had been pulling away for some time, trying to become an adult. But Theon wanted to play. And so he and this girl Roz, who he had a thing for, went to find some coke at the Uni do. Only the dealer was nowhere to be found. The guy whose party this was told them to talk to Ramsay who didn't deal but always had shareables. He shared his weed, his coke; he brought booze and girls; everyone invited him. 

The thing no one told Theon was that Ramsay didn't so much share as barter for favors. Roz bounced because she didn't like the vibe Ramsay gave off but Theon at that point wanted to party. So he stuck around and started talking to Ramsay. It started off with the drugs. Ramsay had a lot of things that Theon could try if he was interested. Then they started talking about things they had in common, like being part of an old family that was once powerful and rich but fell on hard times. Like being friends with people who had more influence. And Ramsay understood. He commiserated. 

“You don’t know what it’s like, Sansa,” Theon said trembling in his gray uniform. “Feeling like you aren’t as good as your friends. Robb welcomed me, but your mom looked at me like I was shite. The Karstarks and the Mormonts, all those people your family associated with, they looked down on me. My family wasn’t good enough for yours.” His voice went hard. “I thought he understood that.”

By the time Theon introduced Ramsay to Sansa, he was already hooked on heroin and the poison Ramsay whispered into his ears. Somehow he had become dependent on Ramsay, not only for his drugs but also for any decisions in his life. He was essentially a toy for Ramsay to manipulate. Ramsay had preyed on his insecurities, isolated him from anyone who cared, and weakened his ability to say no. 

And then Sansa happened.

He never meant to introduce her. When he saw her at the party, he never even meant to say hello. But Ramsay had taken one look at her, seen a beautiful vulnerable girl, and insisted on being introduced. And Theon, to his shame, had done so. 

“He didn’t see the strength in you.” “ Theon told her earnestly. “He always underestimated you. You were in a bad place then, like I was, when he met you. And he took advantage of that. But you weren't weak. It was in you, that steeliness that would save you.”

Theon talks a little about the abuse he suffered before and after Sansa. He talks about the work Ramsay would make him do; How Ramsay would offer him a choice: the drugs or a shower? How he would take the drugs. But Ramsay was overconfident about his hold on Theon, overconfident on Theon’s loyalty. And while he would lock Sansa away to take deals or talk to his father, Theon was always allowed to stay in the room. 

“I didn’t always understand everything,” he told her “Sometimes I was nodding out and could only hear bits and pieces. Most of the time it didn’t make sense. They’d talk about the Wildlings and the Dragon account whatever that was. It’d start a row about the best way to take care of them. Then they’d talk about some sort of land up North and something called the Free Folk. They’d argue about that too.”

He told her the little bit he knew about that. How the Boltons had some land up North but there was some sort of argument about how really owned it. They wanted to sell it to someone, he couldn’t remember the name. 

“I was really gone,” he admitted. “I was often really gone. When he started to hurt you, I tried to stop but he’d dope me up. And then he'd hurt me worse.” he started to cry. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I’m so so sorry. I was weak. I was useless” It was then that the guards came over and made them leave. 

“You did help, Theon.” she had told him as he is shuffled away. “And I'm okay, now. I'm okay.”

Now she looks down at her list and the things that stick out are the Dragon account and the land up North. There is something going on there that no one but the Boltons know. Something that may have lead to Roose’s death. And maybe even Ygritte’s. She should call Jon and tell him about it. She looks at her phone. There’s a knock on her door. 

“Come in.” she calls. Rickon pops just his head in and she watches a slew of puppies try to wiggle their way in. 

“Sans!” he says excitedly. “I have Monday off from school. Mum has to take Bran to the doctors and dad has work. Wanna do something?” She looks at the puppies who have successfully made their way into the room and are wrestling the previously lazy Lady. 

“Do you want to go on a mini road trip, Rickon?”


	19. Day Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her plan, which is not much of one, involves asking around town for information. Back in Flam she learned the value of listening and respecting. Small towns talk, that’s all there is to do sometimes. They don’t always talk to outsiders, but sometimes they are willing to if the person is respectful and friendly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I do not own a gosh darn thing! (except the mistakes - one of which I recently discovered and rectified). Thank you all for bearing with me! 
> 
> I actually started this chapter heading in one direction, and it took me another direction. So there's that. It's also longer than anticipated. Anyway, thank you all for reading and supporting!
> 
> *Edit* I forgot to add that yet again, I am taking real places and warping them for my purposes so apologies to anyone reading this who is like, thats not how that works....

It’s a long drive North especially since she has only a vague idea of where she is going so she gets them up before dawn. Rickon stumbles sleepily into the backseat while she takes Ghost for a brief walk. Ghost had refused to leave her side the night before, not even budging when Jon pleaded. At first, it wasn’t a big deal until everyone noticed. Arya muttered about how weird Ghost’s devotion was and their mother looked askance as Ghost followed Sansa from room to room while Bran mildly suggested Sansa and Rickon bring Ghost with them. Jon looked equal parts embarrassed and bewildered. Rickon was the only one who cheered. 

It’s still dark when they leave, and Robb sees them off. She hasn’t spent much time with him alone since he picked her up from the airport. They are both uncomfortable but trying. It’s just easier with a buffer. He is silent as he hands her the lunches and snacks she packed the night before, but he smiles softly at her. And he’s here to see her off early in the morning from a house he no longer lives at. She makes an effort to smile sincerely back at him, and wave at him as she drives away.

Rickon immediately falls back asleep, burrowed beneath his coat a big wriggling blob while Ghost inches as close as he can get to her. They are both in the back seat, but Ghost rests his snout on the console and dozes, waking only to make sure she’s okay. The first part of the ride is nearly silent, punctuated only by Rickon’s snores and Ghost’s little fits of wakefulness. She hums a little as the sun rises and by the time it’s half past eight, they are practically halfway there, Rickon is waking, and she’s full-on singing albeit quietly.

“I missed your singing,” Rickon says sleepily. “You used to sing me to sleep when Mum couldn’t.”

“I did.” She glances back for a second to smile at him. 

“I don't need to be sung to sleep anymore but I still miss your singing.” He is very solemn when he tells her this, and she is reminded he’s no longer a little boy. 

“Thank you,” she tells him sincerely and just as seriously. “That’s an incredibly nice thing to say.” She pauses and then because she’s not above bribing “In my bag are some muffins if you want one. Don’t give any to Ghost. He has his own treats.”

“Mmmh Ooh. Blueberry.” He immediately shoves one in his mouth and says, mouth full. “You used to tell me stories too. But they were sappy. Arya tells gory stories. I like those. Still, I’m glad you’re back.” 

“I’m glad I’m back too.” 

He stays buried beneath his coat but demolishes two more muffins and entertains her with a story about this girl in his karate class named Lyanna. She is, apparently, excellent for a person. He prefers dogs but he wouldn’t mind hanging out with her. She beat up their instructor by the third week and promised to teach Rickon some of her moves. Throughout his story, Rickon keeps shifting oddly, and when they pull over to give Ghost a brief walk, she realizes his stomach is moving. 

“Rickon, tell me you didn’t” She closes her eyes just as Shaggydog bursts from Rickon’s coat blanket and beelines for the front seat.

“He didn’t want to stay behind. Mum says he has to go to dog school. He doesn’t want to. And I don’t want him to either. I like him the way he is. Arya’s Nymeria doesn’t listen to Mum but Arya’s still allowed to take her places. And Bran’s dog only listens to him and Dad. Lady and Greywind are the only ones that behave. I like Lady but I don’t want Shaggydog to be like her!”

“Oh, Rickon.” She isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or scream. Rickon is clenching his coat but looking fierce and mulish, not unlike how Robb used to look when their mother caught him drinking with Theon. Ghost has Shaggydog by the scruff even as Shaggydog kicks and wiggles and tries to lick Sansa’s face. She looks at him and then back at Rickon. The puppies are barely puppies anymore. 

“How did he even fit in your coat?”

\-------------------------

The North Pennines is a good five hours from home. Theon’s information implied that there might be a patch of land there that was privately owned. Which meant, it could be the patch of land belonging to the Boltons. He said it was near St. John’s Chapel. At least that’s what he remembers. He wasn’t completely sure. 

Robb and Jon liked to hike through the Pennines, and sometimes Arya would join them. But Sansa had never gone. When she was younger, she preferred the draw of bigger cities and towns. But it was considered beautiful and Sansa’s done a little research. The area was suggested to be rich in zinc and minerals as well as rare plants. If the Boltons owned a spot that could be mined for zinc, it might be worth a lot of money, especially to a company that owns many manufacturing businesses. 

They’d stopped at a roadside cafe just outside of Stainton so she could have a quick pick-me-up coffee. Rickon and Shaggydog needed to let out some energy too. They have been very good, but it’s a long drive, and the longer they are in the car, the antsier Rickon gets. As she watches Rickon take a break from their early lunch to wrestle Shaggydog and Ghost, she glances at a map. They aren’t too far from where they need to be. Playing with Rickon, Ghost looks like a puppy himself. He turns to look at her and wags his tail. She sips some lukewarm coffee and grins to herself. The road trip was turning out to be a little more fun that she had thought it would be. Rickon kept her entertained and carefree. 

“He yours?” a voice from behind her asks. She jumps and whirls around. There’s a woman watching them. She’s older than Sansa but not by much. Her clothes are plain, worn, and warm. She herself is a pretty woman with long blond hair and fiercely intelligent eyes. “He’s cute. Looks like you.”

“Thank you,” Sansa says hesitantly edging slightly away from the woman. 

“I’m Val.” The woman says finally. “Din’ mean to make you uncomfortable. Thought I recognized the white dog. My mistake.”

“It’s fine.” They stand there in silence for awhile watching Rickon. Val stands a bit away from Sansa, putting clear distance between them. Eventually, Ghost begins herding Rickon and Shaggydog back to Sansa and the car. 

“Ghost says it’s time to go,” Rickon says guilelessly. Sansa ushers him into the car, shushing him a little with a sideways glance at Val who is openly watching them. 

“He’s right. It is time to go. Into the car.”

As they drive away, she notices in the mirror Val is on the phone. She’s no longer watching them drive away. Sansa presses on the pedal a little harder than necessary. 

It’s just past twelve when they finally arrive at St. John’s Chapel. It’s beautiful here but she misses Norway acutely. If she’d wanted to, anyone in town would have taken her to the mountains and she would have seen views similar to this. Maybe a little colder. But then, Rickon slips his hand into hers for just a moment, like he can sense the change in her, and she curls her hand around his. He squeezes it gently, only letting go to chase after Shaggydog who takes off the moment they open the car door. 

Her plan, which is not much of one, involves asking around town for information. Back in Flam, she learned the value of listening and respecting. Small towns talk, that’s all there is to do sometimes. They don’t always talk to outsiders, but sometimes they are willing to if the person is respectful and friendly. 

She whistles for dogs and Rickon. They come barrelling her way, wind in their hair, Rickon’s nose red and runny. He’s as beautiful as the land, this bold English brother of hers. She snaps a quick picture of him with her phone. He’s running towards her, the dogs at his heels and she thinks, Shireen and Davos would love him. 

They stop at the Town Hall first, but get nowhere. Then they try the Library. Nothing. She asks a few locals who tell her unfortunately, they know nothing. There are no areas of fenced of land or guards. The land has always been open and beautiful. No one has heard anything about privately owned land or buyers. 

“The trails along Weardale are lovely. You should go for a walk. You won’t find much else here.” one of the locals says. Rickon turns towards Sansa, his entire face lit up. Between his big blue eyes and the warm browns of Shaggydog, Sansa is a goner. 

“But be careful,” the local continues “Stay on the trails. Tourists have gone missing when they off trailed along Wearhead.”

They hike along the trails for awhile. Really Sansa slows them down. She’s glad she bundled up in Davos’ old jacket and remembered her scarf. There’s some snow on the ground, but Ghost looks in his element and Rickon is giggling up ahead of her. It’s cold and lovely. It feels nice. They’re a good way away from St. John’s Chapel, but it’s only the afternoon, and they have time. 

“Stay on the trail, Rickon” she calls out to him. He laughs and runs a little ahead, only to return a few seconds later. Ghost follows close behind him, herding Shaggydog onto the trail. Eventually though, she notices all three have stopped. She hurries to catch up to them.

There’s a man standing in the middle of the trail. He is staring at Rickon, a strange look on his face. He doesn’t notice her and seems to pay no mind to the dogs. Shaggydog is growling a little, but Ghost is silent. He blends in so well with the snow that the man doesn’t seem to notice him. 

“‘Allo.” He says finally. Even though he stands some feet away from them, she can smell him. He looks dirty and malnourished like he lives in the woods. He smiles crookedly at Rickon Rickon says nothing, but bares his teeth back at the man. Shaggydog growls a little louder. 

“Feisty.” The man whispers. “We like feisty.”

“Rickon, come here.” the man startles a little when she speaks and turns towards her, his eyes growing wide. He stares at her hair. She forgot a hat, and it is bright against the gray and white day. 

Rickon backs away from the man towards her. Neither of them takes their eyes off of him. 

“I know you.” the man says finally. “I’ve seen you.”

“I don’t know you.” She says calmly, but her heart is beating rapidly. She puts her hand on Rickon’s shoulder, staring straight at the man. “We are going to leave and you are going to stay here.” He steps towards her. Ghost blocks him and she finally turns, dragging Rickon along, back the way they came. 

“I’ll tell him you stopped by.” He calls after her. “He’ll be so happy.”

She hurries them back along the trail, silent and rushed. Rickon doesn’t complain or question her directives. She squashes the urge to look behind them, trusting that Ghost or Shaggydog will alert them if anyone is there. The woods they stomp through no longer feel beautiful and freeing, but threatening and oppressive. She tries to control her breathing, but she knows she’s panting a little. 

Even after they are in the car, doors locked, she still trembles a little. But she starts the car and drives them back to St. John’s Chapel. She gives Rickon some of the cash their mother gave them and sends him to the grocers for water and snacks. And then she calls Jon. It’s still early afternoon, so she doesn’t expect him to pick up, would make due with hearing his voice-mail message. 

“Sansa?” he answers, his voice pleased and surprised, “I thought you and Rickon were off having ‘bonding time.’”

“Jon” her voice cracks and all the panic bubbles up. “I…” She sees Rickon heading inside. Shaggydog has his head in her lap and is being surprisingly docile while Ghost stands guard and she’s on the phone with Jon. She’s okay. They are okay. She takes a breath.

“Jon, I..it's nothing.” She confesses. “Traveling, you know. Just a momentary panic. I’m okay now. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Sansa, where are you?” 

“We’re up at the North Pennines.” and then, while Rickon is still in the store, she starts to tell Jon everything. What Theon told her, her suspicions and interests, the research she did. Then she tells him about the ride, Shaggydog, and the woman, Val, on the side of the road

“Val?” Jon interrupts, his voice going up a little. 

“Yes, she said she thought she recognized Ghost.” Sansa isn’t dumb, by any means. And Jon’s reaction means he knows this Val. She thinks about the other woman, her pretty blond hair, and intelligent eyes. Her down to earth attitude and the knowing way she stood far from Sansa like she knew Sansa was skittish. “You know a person named, Val, Jon?” she asks archly. 

“I know her...I mean um. I met her.” Jon says. “Ygritte knew some people living near there who called themselves The Free Folk, peaceful protesters. She, Ygritte I mean, used to be one of them before she and some others left to form the Wildlings. We went up there to talk to them a while back. I met Val then. She was...she was something else.”

“She seemed nice.” Sansa says diplomatically, and she can’t help herself. She thinks of Jon’s dark curly hair and Val’s long blond; she thinks of Val’s easy smile and Jon’s hesitant one; they would make a striking couple. She doesn’t much like that thought for some reason. 

“Liar” she can hear the fondness in his voice. “She made you uncomfortable, didn’t she? She made me uncomfortable too, sometimes.” 

She smiles and then feels stupid for smiling. It’s amazing how quickly she can go from being terrified to being okay in just a few seconds after talking to him. She should tell him about the man on the path. She should tell someone. She clears her throat just as the passenger’s side door opens and Rickon slides in. He hands her a bottle of water and opens one of his snacks. The loud crackling distracts her. She takes a sip as he settles in. 

“Thank you.” She smiles at him. And then to the phone “Jon, I should start heading back so it’s not too late.”

“Right. Yes. Long drive, eh?” he laughs it off, but she can hear an indecipherable tone in his voice. She looks at Rickon who is systematically destroying a bag of crisps. She doesn’t know how long those are going to hold him. She knows Robb was a bottomless pit when he was thirteen, and she thinks fondly of Grenn and Pyp who are always hungry. She wonders if Mya brings them snacks like she promised. These days, food is the only way she knows how to say she cares. 

“Why don’t we pick you up for dinner?” she says decisively. “I haven’t seen where you work. And Rickon deserves a treat for being such a trooper on this adventure.” And she wants to see Jon. She wants his, no, she needs his calming presence. She wonders what Davos would think about this adventure. What would her father think? She really should talk to someone. 

“Oh. Uh. Yes.” and then with more enthusiasm.”Ye.. yeah. That sounds great.” 

“Great. We are driving your way then.” she winks at Rickon who is grinning. “Text Rickon your work address. We will see you soon.”

Rickon calls their mother on the ride back. Sansa can hear her excitement through the speakers. The normality of the situation, Sansa taking charge and leaving the house, their mother is excited by it, thrilled by it, relieved by it. It’s as if this little moment of sibling bonding says to the world, Sansa is doing okay. She’s getting better. 

She’s not sure she’s getting “better.” But she is currently in a good place. Half of the day was a good day. She asks Rickon to call Shireen.

“She was really nice to me when I was away,” she tells him. She wants them to meet. The good part of the day was Rickon. In Flam when she alone at that beginning, the good part of her days was Shireen. It seems right that the two should talk. And Shireen could use more friends. It also gives Sansa some time to think.

After her initial greeting, Sansa leaves them to it. Shireen is younger than Rickon, but she asking all the right questions about the dogs, and Rickon is rising to the occasion explaining all the delicate intricacies of rearing five puppies. She can almost sense Ghost rolling his eyes. 

While they talk, she drives and thinks about that man on the trail. Despite what he said, she did not know him. Her gut instinct tells her that they were close to Ramsay’s land. And her instincts also tell her Ramsay now knows she’s back. She expected the apprehension but not the determination. 

\----------------------------------

Jon is standing outside his work as they pull up. He looks handsome, she thinks, standing there is a rumpled suit, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail. He looks tired but immediately perks up upon seeing them. His eyes smile when they meet hers. 

“Hello, Rickon.” Jon says ruffling Rickon’s hair and sliding into the backseat where Shaggydog tries to murder him with love. "Ghost. Shaggydog.” and then softer. “Hey, Sansa.”

“Hi Jon.” She says, her stomach flutters a little which is silly, she thinks. “You look very handsome. I don’t remember…” she starts to tease only to realize they aren’t alone, and Rickon doesn't know Jon stayed with her in Flam.

“Do you have to dress like that every day?.” Rickon interrupts. “Real jobs are horrid.” Jon laughs. 

“I do and they are.” Jon catches her eyes in the mirror. “I’m starving. Why don’t you guys come back to mine and we’ll order a pizza? Does...is that okay?”

“Brilliant!” Rickon cheers. 

Jon’s flat isn’t much but it’s bigger than her place in Flam, and it is homier. While Jon and Rickon feed the dogs, she wanders around a little like he did at her place, only he has a little more to look at. She looks at the photos on the wall, sees group shots with Pyp, Grenn, and Tormund. She recognizes Sam with some other fellas and a striking redhead. In one, Arya and Robb mug for a photo. In another, Jon and Robb are giving Bran and Rickon piggy back rides. 

And then she sees, peaking out from behind a Stark family a picture of her that she doesn’t remember. She leans in closer to see it. It’s pre-Ramsay, pre-Flam. In the picture she’s sitting at her sewing machine, biting her lip, concentrating really hard. It’s a pretty picture, the sun shining on her hair making it glow a little. It looks like a scene in a movie. 

She looks up to see Jon and Rickon discussing, quite seriously, pizza toppings. They both look at her at the same time, and when they both beam at her, she is overcome with tenderness.


	20. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa just squeezes his arm gently and thanks him. She puts all three in separate vases, leaving hers in the kitchen by the window so she can see it in the morning. They look lovely there, sunset colors against the white window pane. And the warmth of his thoughtfulness stays with her for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but my mistakes and my thanks!

She is washing their plates and cups after dinner when Jon joins her. Rickon is, apparently, attempting to teach Shaggydog tricks by using Ghost to show him how. It neither makes sense nor does it seem to be working, but all three are having fun. She dips her hands in the hot soapy water, relishing in the slight sting. Its soothing, the routine of washing dishes. Scrape, scrub, rinse, repeat. She washes in silence for awhile. She hears Jon’s footsteps behind her. 

“I’m glad you came over,” Jon says, picking up a towel and starting to dry the cups. They pause when they hear Rickon squeal and then shriek with laughter. She looks over at him, and they both smile. He ducks his head for a moment. Its that shy reflex that softens her, reminds her that she isn't alone here. That maybe she can trust him the way she trusts Davos and Mya, someone to help her carry her burden a bit. 

“Me too.” she pauses for a moment. “Thanks for inviting us over.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“I want to tell you something, Jon, but I don’t want to upset you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I realize that I did something today that put me, and Rickon, in an awkward place, so when I tell you the rest of what happened after I met your friend Val...”

“No. Sans. Friend is such a... I don't know her that well.” he quickly interrupts.

“Not the point, Jon. The point is, I need you to stay calm. And understanding.”  
“Alright…” He sounds a little sterner. “Tell me.”

“I went looking for Ramsay’s land, but no one in town knew about it or heard about it. It was like it didn’t exist. So we went for a walk around where it possibly could be, and... And there was a man.” she stops washing the dishes, lets them sink back into the water, and turns towards him. “He frightened Rickon and the dogs. He frightened me. He said he knew me. He said he was going to tell someone I stopped by.” she looks away. 

“Sansa,” Jon grabs her hand. She looks down in surprise but he is still gentle in his urgency, though his voice has a sharp note to it. “Are you okay? What were you thinking? You can’t just...you should have waited for me. You need to tell me these things. I would have gone with you.”

“I thought we could handle it.” She looks up at him. “Which we did. We handled it. And I’m telling you now.”

“Bloody hell, Sans.” He lets go of her hands and rests his hands, instead, on the counter leaning heavily on them. “You should have waited.”

“You’re right. You are completely right but…” He huffs out a laugh, stopping her. “What are you laughing at?”

“What did your dad use to say? Everything before the word but…”

“Is horseshit.” She laughs. Pauses. Thinks about it. “And he’s right. You’re right. I should have waited. Whatever I thought, I should have waited. I will wait the next time I have a genius idea.” she cuts her eyes towards him. “It was a genius idea.” 

He scoffs but grins at her. She turns back to finish the dishes. 

“Ramsay has to know by now that I’m back.” She says staring deeply at the dishes. “He’s going to reach out to me.”

“And when he does, we’ll be prepared.”

“How, Jon? How will we be prepared? You don’t know him like I do. You met him, what? Once at work? I lived with him. I know what he’s like. He likes to play games. He likes to hurt people. And Theon and I survived him. He won’t take that lightly.” She scrubs harder at the last dish. “I guarantee the police are already in his pocket. I’m surprised Theon hasn’t been hurt worse where he is. ”

“So what do you suggest we do?” 

“I don’t know. Just be aware for now. Just know that he’s coming.” She hands him the last dish. “I should tell my father, shouldn’t I?”

“Aye. It’s time.” 

He starts putting the dishes away as she rests her back against the counter watching him, considering him. Rickon is still in the other room giggling away. The kitchen is a little too warm. She’s on edge and maybe a little angry. She’s frustrated and misses Flam. She wants to go home. She felt safe there. She liked being Alayne. Alayne didn’t worry about Theon or a vicious Ramsay. Alayne didn’t have to decipher clues from a dirty madman on a path. 

But.

Alayne didn’t have a little brother laughing in the other room. Alayne didn’t go home to a mother who, if she asked, would brush her hair. Alayne didn’t have siblings who wanted to watch over her. Alayne didn’t have Jon, not at first at least. And she probably wouldn’t have had him for long. 

“Where did you get that picture of me?” She doesn’t mean to ask, it just slips out. 

“What?” Jon almost drops a cup. He quickly puts it away. 

“The photo on your wall. I didn’t recognize it. Where did you get it?”

“Oh. I...Bran had it. When I returned from Flam, I wanted to decorate the place. You know. Make it feel like home. I….” he scratches the back of his neck which is turning slightly pink again. “Bran gave me this box of photos he had from when he was learning photography. Most were awful. But...I liked that one.” 

“And the other pictures on wall?”

“ Sam gave me the ones with the guys. And your mum gave me a few of the others. She also dropped off enough food to feed me for a month.” She smiles

“Sounds about right.” 

“Sansa…” She finds Jon looking at her, considering her. His eyes dip a little to her lips and then back up to her eyes. “Your smile…” She clutches at the counter but doesn’t move as he steps closer. His hands reaches up slowly, gently to cup her face. “I…” He swallows. “It’s a nice smile.” 

She closes her eyes as he leans forward and gently presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“I’m glad you’re okay. Whatever comes, we face it together.” He whispers against her hair before stepping away and out of the kitchen. She needs a moment longer. 

“Rickon,” she calls out after “Are you ready to go? Mum’ll be wondering where we’ve gotten off to.”

\----------------------------

She’s surprised by subdued reaction from Ramsay. He was always so melodramatic in his interactions. He never raised his voice, but everything he did to her, to Theon was a performance. He’d monologue keeping them on the edge before walking away, only to “punish” them days later. She’s not sure what she expected but a dozen long stem red roses on Valentines Day wasn’t it. 

They look so innocuous sitting on the kitchen counter Valentine’s morning when she arrives home from walking the dogs. There’s no card, just a little tag saying “To Sansa.” They are displayed beautifully in a box, delicate pink paper surrounding their stems, the presentation just as important as the flowers. 

“These came for you.” her mother tells her as soon as she walks in. The kitchen smells like the cookies she baked to bring to Rickon’s karate match that night. She hasn’t left the house much and she is looking forward to watching his match. 

Her mother watches her face closely. Maybe it was how dark red they were, or maybe she just intuitively sensed, waiting days for this, but Sansa knew they were from Ramsay. 

She carefully opens the box and, using fork, peels away the surrounding paper. Sure enough, the long beautiful red roses were not de-thorned. And anyone opening this, not looking carefully, would have ripped up their hands. 

“You can throw the box away.” She says, closing it up. “I don’t want them.”

Her mother nods, and immediately throws them away. They don't talk about it then. They don’t talk about it later at dinner or with anyone. Her mother throws the roses away immediately in the bins outside and far away from their cozy kitchen. 

For Rickon’s match, Arya brings her boyfriend, Gendry, who is a little older than her but friendly and kind. Rickon is incredibly fond of him and had insisted he come. Jon comes too with three little bouquets, blushing a little when Catelyn kisses his cheek, and Arya punches him in the shoulder. Robb calls him a suck up while Bran asks where his flowers are. 

Sansa just squeezes his arm gently and thanks him. She puts all three in separate vases, leaving hers in the kitchen by the window so she can see it in the morning. They look lovely there, sunset colors against the white window pane. And the warmth of his thoughtfulness stays with her for the rest of the night.

She sits with her parents on the bleachers during the competition, waiting for Rickon’s actual match. All the single mothers hit on Robb who eats up the attention and winks at her when he sees her watching him. It reminds her a little of being a teenager, watching her popular big brother talk his way into and out of trouble. If he caught her eye, he’d wink and let her in on the joke. There is a little part of her that almost expects Theon to be there right with him, egging Robb on. 

She runs her hands across her face. She still hasn’t gotten anywhere with the land. Jon told her he’d look into it at work, but everything is based off of Theon’s memory, which to be honest can’t be all that good. She glances over at Jon. He’s chatting away with Gendry and Bran. Looking further, she catches Arya watching her, not saying anything. Just watching her. Sansa gives her a half smile that she doesn’t return. 

Thank god for Rickon who runs up to them, pulling all the attention on him. Arya’s attention is intense and overwhelming. Sansa shifts away to wish him good luck, forcing him to suffer through her hug while their mother looks on smiling, eyes glistening a little. Sansa chooses not to notice. 

“I’m going to win.” Rickon solemnly tells her. “Lyanna taught me some new moves. It’s in the bag.”

“Oh is it. “ Sansa laughs. “I look forward to seeing it.” she watches him run away, smiling to herself until…

He’s standing across the gymnasium watching her, that infuriating knowing smirk of his. He is watching her, just watching her. How he knew to show up here. How he knew to… It’ doesn’t matter how, she thinks. What matters is he is there. That was always his game, being there when he wasn’t supposed to. The threat of him looming over everything. Near the end, he didn’t even have to touch her to make her do what he wanted. 

“Are you okay?” Jon startles her out of her thoughts, his hand on hers. She looks over and down and realizes that while staring at Ramsay, she’d grabbed his arm. Everyone is looking at them. She turns back to see that Ramsay is gone.

“Yes.” She shakes her head and forces a smile. “I’m fine.” And then steadier “I’m fine Jon.” 

Rickon wins and insists upon celebrating with ice cream. They are a noisy crew, except Jon who keeps giving her worried glances and Arya who says nothing but keeps looking at her and at Jon as if she is working something out. Sansa eats half of her lemon sorbet and then lets Rickon demolish the rest. He shows off his trophy and talks himself hoarse in the car.

When Rickon has gone up to his room before bed, and her parents are in the other room discussing Rickon’s upcoming events, Sansa takes a few moments in the kitchen to make tea. She sets out seven teacups, puts out some cookies, and brews the tea. 

“What are you doing?” Arya slips in the room, quietly. Sansa is surprised. She thought Arya was still saying goodbye to Gendry. 

“Making tea. You have a few minutes?”

“Me?” Arya looks at her suspiciously “You want to talk to me?”

“Actually, I want to talk to everyone.” Sansa smooths her hands against her jeans and takes a little breath. Arya nods and slips back out, presumably to grab everyone else. 

\-------------------------------

If Jon hadn’t been there, she isn’t sure should could have told them everything. It starts out simply enough, her father leans against the counter, Robb and her mother sit with Bran at the kitchen island on stools, Arya leans near the kitchen door while Jon watches over her from beside the fridge while she trembles near the stove making and serving tea. 

“When I left” she starts.

“When you ran away” Arya interrupts. 

“Arya,” their mother admonishes. But Sansa shakes her head. 

“I did. I ran away.” She looks straight at Arya. “When I ran away, I was running away from Ramsay Bolton. I was tired of being afraid and of...of being hurt by him. And I knew that if I came here, he would follow.”

“Oh Sansa,” her mother says. Robb sits at the island, clutching the delicate teacup in his hands. Her father says nothing. Jon says nothing. 

“So you just fucked off and didn’t tell any of us. And what, came back because you’re no longer afraid?” Arya pushes off from the door frame where she’s been leaning. Sansa glances at Jon who gives her a reassuring half smile. “Why the fuck are you looking at him for?”

“I’ve been living in Flam Norway for the past two years.” Sansa settles on. “I came back because…”

“Because I saw her there, and I told her about Theon.” Jon pushes off from the fridge as Robb jumps up dropping the teacup to the floor where it shatters into tiny slivers.

“You knew she was there! I asked. I asked you.”

“I asked him not to tell you.” Sansa shouts above Robbs angry accusations. And with that confession, everyone stops. Her mother looks startled by her vehemence. Her father holds onto Robb’s arm while Robb just deflates and looks at her hurt and confused. 

“What” 

“I asked him not to tell anyone.” She glances over at Jon. “Begged him really. He wanted you all to know but.” And then with growing strength. “But I forced him to stay quiet. If he hadn’t have come, I never would have called home. I never would have reached out and talked to Bran.” She looks over at Bran who has been still the entire time. “And if Bran hadn’t been so...so Bran on the phone, I wouldn’t have kept calling. If anyone else had answered, I would have hung up.”

No one says anything. 

“You don’t know what he did to me. What...what he did to me or Theon. You don’t know.” She picks up her tea and just holds it. “I was scared. I was scared and I didn’t know what to do. So,” and she looks at Arya “So I ran away. And I pretended to be someone else. Someone who was stronger and braver than me. And I met some wonderful people who accepted me into their lives as this fake person. And I would have stayed there, stayed away from home and Ramsay and Theon, if Jon hadn’t come to town. If my friends hadn’t encouraged me to come home, to help.”

“Sansa,” her father finally says. “You’re right. We don’t know. So why don’t you tell us.”

And she does. She tells them everything, start to finish. 

Her mother cries in her father’s arms while Robb clenches and unclenches his fists and Bran looks at her and Jon looks at the floor. He’s never heard everything. And she tells them everything. And Arya.

When she looks up, Arya is gone, the silent occupancy she once held now a silent empty space.


	21. Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hated you,” Arya says leaning against the closed door. Her eyes bore into Sansa’s. Sansa sits heavily on her bed. “Everyone just loved you so much. You were always the pretty one, the delicate one, the popular one. A perfect little lady. And I hated it. I hated you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this took so long. Life got in the way. 
> 
> I still own nothing except my affection for the novels and tv show this is based on and all the many mistakes I have made (both in life and in this story). 
> 
> This is still ambling along. I apologize for the slow movement. To be honest, life got in the way and then I got lost a little in where I was going with this. I'm slowly making my way back. Thanks for bearing with me and it and continuing to read. 
> 
> You all certainly are swell.

Back in Flam when Sansa allowed herself the luxury of thinking of home and family, she often wondered how her disappearance affected her family. She wondered if Bran and Rickon missed her. Sometimes she viciously wondered if Robb was sorry for the words he said and if he blamed himself, and then she immediately regretted that thought and prayed he was okay. She imagined family dinners where everyone spoke of her in glowing terms and pined for her.

She never wondered what Arya thought of her disappearance. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t think of Arya. She did. She hoped Arya was well. When she needed to be brave, she channeled her younger sister and put on a tough face. It’s just, she never wondered if Arya was affected by her absence. She assumed she wasn’t. 

As her father consoles her mother, and Robb argues with Jon in hushed angry tones so Rickon doesn’t come investigate, Sansa looks at the doorway Arya was standing in, and for the first time wonders what her sister did when she was gone. 

“She won’t be gone long,” Bran says softly. Sansa turns to find him watching her. “She wasn’t,” he pauses “unaffected by the past two years. When you left,” He shrugs. “She got angrier.”

Sansa nods and looks back at the empty doorway. She doesn't know what to say. 

It’s an hour or so later when Robb finally is done berating Jon. Sansa has cleaned up the kitchen and kept an eye out for the two of them. Her mother went to bed. There was an awkward moment where they tried to comfort each other only to be unable to. Sansa wanted to hug her mother but found herself stuck, unable to move closer but needing/wanting that closeness. So she held out her hand and let her mother hold that, for a moment. 

Her father has retreated to his office and Bran to his room. Sansa is alone until Jon comes in. He jerks his head a little at the kitchen door, and the two of them silent slide out into the cold crisp air. 

“He’s angry,” Jon says. “And he’s hurt.”

Sansa wraps her arms around herself and stares out at the dark sky. She wonders where Arya is and if she’s warm. And then she wonders if their mother ever did this, stare out at the sky hoping Sansa was warm. She breathes in and out, watches the white puffs dissipate into darkness. 

“I didn’t know…” She starts to say and then stops. “I didn’t mean for you to side with me.” She was selfish, she thinks to herself, to ask Jon to keep their meeting to himself. But she can’t bring herself to regret asking him to give her time, or moving to Flam or being away from her family. She can’t regret growing another family and learning how to be alone. Maybe it wasn’t the way other people learn to be alone. Maybe it wasn’t as clear-cut and clean as going to college and “become an adult.” But, she learned to rely on herself. She learned how to survive. She learned how to open herself up again after being hurt and how to build herself back up after being driven down. She learned. 

“I didn’t side with you. You’re my friend, Sansa.” Jon tells her earnestly, lighting a cigarette. “And you asked a favor of me, one that I could deliver. The rest is between me and Robb.”

“Thank you, Jon. I don’t say that enough. Thank you.” She looks out at the dark sky, searching for a star or two but it’s too cloudy. She misses the lights in Flam, the bright swirls. It’s too dark here. 

But then.

Jon’s warm hand slides into her cold one. 

“You did the right thing, telling your family. It might not feel like it right now,” he says not looking at her. “For you or for them. But it was the right thing. I know a thing or two about being alone, adrift. It’s better to have someone in your corner.” He squeezes her hand. 

“Do you still feel alone?” Sansa asks. 

“No. Not right now.” He turns towards her. His eyes dark and serious. When he lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles, she thinks of the knights she daydreamed about as a little girl even though his lips are chapped and his facial hair scratches a little. But his voice is soft and tender, his touch gentle. “Not when you’re here.”

\----------------------------------

Arya is gone for two days which is, apparently, normal. Sansa is told variations of “She’s probably at Gendry’s” or “Sometimes she needs to get away.” But no one seems worried, so she can only assume that Arya told someone, probably Bran, where she’d gone. Her return has very little fanfare. One day she was gone. The next she was back, slipping silently into Sansa’s room just before bed.

“I hated you,” Arya says leaning against the closed door. Her eyes bore into Sansa’s. Sansa sits heavily on her bed. “Everyone just loved you so much. You were always the pretty one, the delicate one, the popular one. A perfect little lady. And I hated it. I hated you.” 

Sansa shifts on her bed, tucking her toes under the covers and hugs her knees to her chest. She doesn't say anything. 

“Sometimes I felt alone and angry. I couldn’t be a lady like you. I didn’t fit in with you and mum and at the same time, I didn’t fit in with the boys. Robb babied you, his precious delicate sister, and Bran would always talk to you. And Rickon never wanted anyone else to babysit him. I was just there. Jon was the only one who understood. At least I had Jon back then.” Arya huffs out a harsh laugh. “And then you fucked up. And kept fucking up. Dropping out of school, hooking up with a druggie and a possible drug dealer. And I was glad.” Arya pushes off the door she was leaning against, coming towards Sansa. 

Sansa sits very very still. Her little sister won’t hurt. Her little sister won’t hurt her. She thinks this over and over to herself until Arya stops just in front of her. 

“I was glad because Robb was angry at you and would complain to me. Rickon was upset because you didn’t pay him any attention anymore so he wanted me to play with him. And Bran needed someone to run his theories by. No one was comparing us or if they were, I was winning. I was happy you were fucking up.” 

Sansa clenches her jaw and watches her sister. But Arya deflates, takes a deep breath and steps back. Sansa doesn’t quite relax but she isn't as tense. 

“Except you weren’t, were you? You weren’t fucking up. You were fucked up.” She takes another breath this time, looking away. “I couldn’t have survived what you survived.”

“Yes. Yes. you could have. You’re the strongest person I know.” Sansa interrupts quietly making a point of maintaining eye contact. “When I needed strength to leave, when I needed that push, I thought of you. I thought of your bravery and your strength and I channeled it. I tried to be like you.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

“Well, don’t get used to it.” Sansa says with as much of a smile as she can muster. “I’m clearly messed up, and you’re still annoying and strange.” Arya half smiles back.

“What are you going to do about him?” 

“I don’t know yet.”

Arya nods and turns to leave. 

“Whatever you decide to do,” she says just before she slips out of the room “I’ll help.”

\------------------------------------------------

The truth is, Sansa isn’t sure what to do about Ramsay or about Theon. She has half-formed ideas of revenge or justice. But currently, she has no proof, no plan of attack, no way forward. She has Jon looking into Ramsay's land. Somehow she knows it’s important, she just doesn’t know how or why yet. Except that maybe Ramsay is trying to sell it. Money is power and all that. 

She also still doesn’t have a job and spends most of her days walking the dogs or cooking at home. It’s both luxurious and boring. She can’t call Davos and Shireen all day because they actually have work and school. Her family is either working themselves or at school. And she still gets shy around them, unsure of her place although it is getting better. So she wanders around the grounds. Jon takes to dropping Ghost of in the mornings, and he helps her wrangle the puppies. She feels safe with him around. But he leaves much to be desired in a conversationalist. 

Eventually, she borrows a car to visit Theon again, this time alone. Although Jon had said he would look into the land and that she should stay safe, he never said anything about the man in the woods, and she finds she is very curious about him. She doesn’t tell Jon, and she doesn’t ask Asha for permission either. 

“Reek” Theon says sitting across from her. He still won’t look at her, not in the eyes. He plays with his bent fingers, rubs his hands on his pants, looks everywhere but straight at her. She doesn’t touch him. He doesn’t touch her. And they sat in silence for the first ten minutes. “Ramsay called him Reek. He called me Reek too.”

Sansa watches him. He shudders a little, wraps his arms around his body and shudders again. 

“Ramsay,” he pauses to wet his lips. “Said he was the first Reek. And I was the second. It took...It took Asha weeks to remind me that my name was Theon. I didn’t tell you that he wanted to change my name to Reek. He wanted a Reek in the country and a Reek in the city. Only, I wasn’t like the other one. He’s sick.”

Theon looks up at her suddenly, his pale eyes staring straight at her. He is urgent and worried. 

“Don’t you be alone with him. Don’t you go looking for him. There’s something wrong about him.”

It’s then that she remembers what she was told at St. John’s Chapel. About the missing tourists. Slowly, some pieces are connecting. At least a part of it. And now she knows who she has to talk to. 

Jon’s office building is larger than she remembered and well secured. But the guard at the desk likes the smile she practiced in the car and lets her through with directions to Jon’s office. She takes the elevator to the 18th floor where he is and tries not to feel underdressed in her jeans and sweater. The women in the elevator with her are all in pencil skirts and sky-high heels. 

But she remembers something her uncle would say. How confidence is everything. He may have been skeezy, but he was also shrewd. He was always navigating some business scheme. He had loved to tell her about them, how clever he was. He was always so confident, even when he was wrong. Especially when he was wrong. She sets her shoulders back and stalks out of the elevator, her sneakers are business appropriate and her large sweater is the height of sophistication. She belongs here as much as anyone else. She heads down the hall where the guard said Jon’s office would be. 

She can see him sitting at a table with Sam. He’s wearing a suit with his hair pulled back, but the jacket is off and his sleeves are rolled up. She takes a moment to appreciate the flex of his arms as he writes whatever Sam is saying. He looks up and catches her eye. She watches the tension roll off him as he relaxes into a smile, and feels the answering rush of relief in her own body. Jon was never good at pretending. 

“Alayne?” She looks away from Jon to see Sam get up and head her way. “I mean, Sansa. Jon, Jon told me.”

“Hi, Sam.” She says sheepishly grinning at him, a little less confident. It’s different with someone she knows and likes. “How are you?”

“Sansa, what are you doing here?” Jon says standing in the doorway. Sam ushers her into the room while Jon finds her a seat.

“I thought I’d steal you for lunch. I was in the neighborhood.”

“That sounds great.” He turns to Sam. “We done here for now?” Sam nods and then laughs lightly as Jon bolts from the room calling out that he'd be right back at them. He turns to smile at Sansa.

“I'm sorry, Sam.” she starts to say.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam reaches over and gently takes one of her hands. He moves slowly enough that it doesn’t startle her. His hands are soft and warm. “Has Jon ever told you about Gilly?”

“Only how you met.”

“Maybe one day, if you want, Gilly can take you out for coffee. I think sometimes it’s nice to have someone to talk to.” He pats her hand once more and then lets go. 

His intentions are sweet. Gilly must have a past similar to her, Sansa thinks to herself as she smiles carefully back at Sam. She wonders if they knew when they met her or if it was something that came in increments as they got to know her. But then again, when Sansa Stark went missing, there was some publicity. And Ramsay has always had questionable reports following him. All of her confidence leaves her then, thinking about how she must look to them. Do they think her weak? Do they pity her?

“Ready to go?” Jon interrupts the moment just before it gets awkward. He’s put on his jacket. Sam declines their invite, and Jon guides her down the hallway, his hand warm and solid on her back. She can see out of the corner of her eye a few people watching them. Jon seems to be oblivious to it all. 

He picks a sandwich shop nearby that has a nice assortment of teas and smirks when it takes her an extra five minutes to decide which tea she wants. He does laugh when she orders a lemon bar as an appetizer. But he sits close enough to her that she can feel the warmth radiating from the thigh that’s pressed up against her leg. She likes it, she decides. His solid form. And she spends more time than she’d like to admit peeking at him from over her teacup. 

“While I am glad you came to lunch, and I do enjoy this coyness you have going on, I’m not stupid,” Jon says finally after she’s devoured the bar and after the waitress delivered their sandwiches. “You came for a reason.”

“I couldn’t have just wanted to see you?” she asks taking a bite of her sandwich and arching an eyebrow like Margaery used to. Just because she did come for a reason doesn’t mean she wouldn’t have stopped by to see him. She misses him when he's not around. Even though they live in the same town, and they talk often, and he's over for dinner all the time, when he isn't there, she misses him. She senses he misses her too. 

“As much as I like that thought, I know you. You’re building to something. I remember that very same look when you were thirteen and trying to convince Robb to let you come to his practice because of that crush you had on that Baratheon kid. And when Robb said no, who did you convince?”

This time she laughs, a little snort coming through that has her covering her mouth and losing any coyness or coolness she had. 

“He was so mad at you. And me. He spent the entire party hovering over my shoulder.” She puts her sandwich down and reaches over to grasp Jon’s hand. She likes this, holding his hand and sitting next to him. She wants him to know that. “I did want to see you. I like seeing you.”

“I’m glad. I like seeing you too.” His face is soft and tender. He lifts her hand, and her heart jumps to her throat as she wonders if he is going to kiss them again. He doesn't. He just holds them. “But I’m not dumb.” She nods. 

“I want you to put me in touch with that woman, that Val. I want to meet the Free Folk. I think I could learn a lot from them.” She squeezes his hand a little, forcing him to focus on her as she leans forward. He leans forward as well. Her voice is a mere whisper in the noisy cafe and his face almost touches hers as she tells him. “I think I may know one of Ramsay’s weaknesses. And I think Free Folk can help.”


	22. Guided Tours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To say Jon was happy about her request would be a lie so she decides against telling him what she had figured out. She coaxes him into agreeing to take her and then immediately turns the conversation to something they both like. She’s only half surprised he goes along with it all. It’s not fair, she is the first to admit, that she uses his gentleness, his kindness against him this way. But she knows she’s right. And she knows this is the way to help Theon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I do not own the characters or the world. I'm just borrowing it for a mo.

To say Jon was happy about her request would be a lie so she decides against telling him what she had figured out. She coaxes him into agreeing to take her and then immediately turns the conversation to something they both like. She’s only half surprised he goes along with it all. It’s not fair, she is the first to admit, that she uses his gentleness, his kindness against him this way. But she knows she’s right. And she knows this is the way to help Theon. 

As an apology, she spends the rest of lunch teasing smiles out of him with increasing ridiculous observations about their fellow patrons. He never quite laughs, but he smiles as much as a man like Jon can. When they eventually leave, she snags his hand and spends the rest of the walk swinging their arms and listing places she wants to take him to. 

“It’s to expand your palate.” She explains mock seriously after listing at least two ice cream parlours and enduring his skeptical look. “I fear you’ve only been eating freezer ice cream. And Jon, that just will not do.”

“Aye? And what do you know about it.” He stops abruptly just in front of his office, jerking her a little towards him and from the door she was heading into. “Sansa, I need you to be honest with me. Don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.” His face is still and his voice is solemn. She nods, blinking at him.

“Have you been making ice cream from scratch and not sharing any with me?”

“Ah. You.” She tries to wrench her hand from his but he holds tight, and now he is laughing. They struggle for a few. Her trying to escape and him holding on. “I almost had a heart attack.” He keeps laughing. “It’s not funny. I thought something was wrong.” But she is smiling because his laugh is low and generous, and she isn’t sure when she’ll hear it again. 

“Jon?”

The laughter falls from his face and eyes, and as Sansa stops struggling, he gently drags her to his side. So she turns to see a tiny beautiful blond is standing in front of the office door in an expensive and tasteful blue jacket. 

“Daenerys. Hi.” Jon seems at a loss for words and they stand there is awkward silence until Sansa reaches out the hand not holding Jon’s.

“Hello. You must be Jon’s aunt” she says carefully. Her mother always said a woman’s armor was her courtesies. She feels like she’s in dangerous territory. Jon has been reticent when his aunt comes up in conversation. And yet, she remembers both their conversations in Flam and the obvious loneliness of him as a child. Jon wants a family. And she thinks Daenerys does too. “I’m Sansa, a friend of Jon’s. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Daenerys’ hand is soft but firm. She’s obviously trying not to stare at Sansa and Jon’s joined hands but failing spectacularly. She is an exceptionally beautiful woman even with the confused look on her face. 

“Pleasure.” she says finally, shaking Sansa’s hand. “It’s so nice to meet a friend of Jon’s. Has he, has he given you a tour of the office? ”

“We just came back from lunch.” Sansa smiles as friendly as she can to make up for Jon’s sullen silence. 

“Let me take you on a tour” Daenerys insists gesturing forward. “Any friend of Jon’s is a friend of mine.” 

Jon doesn’t let go of her hand as if he can prevent her from leaving with his aunt. She knows it's rude to say no, and she senses that Daenerys would take personal offense to it. So she plasters on that friendly smile and follows, dragging Jon with her. 

He has to eventually part ways with her at the elevator. Daenerys gives them a moment, though it would be rude to take too long. He looks apprehensive letting her go so she brushes her hair back and leans over to give him a lingering kiss on his cheek, relishing in the way he flushes and how her chest flutters a little like it could take flight. 

“It’s just a tour. We’ll be fine. I promise to come see you after.” She whispers softly in his ear. He nods, but she can feel his eyes on her as they walk away, Daenerys leading her towards some offices. Daenerys has taken off her jacket and is dressed tastefully in a black dress that is both professionally and fashionable. Her heels click against the floor, and despite their height, she is still much shorter than Sansa whose sneakers squeak against the linoleum. 

Daenerys is a lovely tour guide. She is friendly, informative, and just a touch self-deprecating as she explains the layout of the huge building and how that impacts the workflow. She admits she has advisors as well as a board, but since she owns most of the stock, she takes what they have to say with a grain of salt. 

“Advisors and boards can only do so much.” Daenerys tells her earnestly. “Half of them have been with us since my eldest brother was in charge. They are old men stuck in their ways. But,” with more enthusiasm “the other half are people I hired, I chose. They’ve been doing some great work rebranding our company. They are open to change.” 

They wind along the hallways as Daenerys keeps up that steady stream of information and her assistant Missandei joins them. They point out the security chief called Gray Worm. All the security officers nod as they walk by though Sansa can feel the weight of their inquisitive stares. She tries not to shudder, wondering if they work for the Boltons. Every floor they stop on is full of employees who stop to chat with Daenerys as she passes. 

“We’ve had to make some major changes.” she admits to Sansa, taking her arm. “While the Targaryen name used to mean something, these days it just implies cheap goods and environmental irresponsibility. That and tragedy…” she trails off. And then with a forced brightness “I wanted us to return to better days. I’ve hired from all over the world, bringing together people of many cultures and backgrounds. We hire predominantly from low-income neighborhoods and countries, and send everyone for training. Everyone starts on the same level. We allow them to grow in the company how they want. And if they want to leave, we support that too.” 

The words sound rehearsed, practiced. And Sansa can guess Daenerys has had to pitch this idea over and over again to her board. Remember her conversations with Jon, Sansa can guess how resistant they are to a woman calling the shots. She nods and oohs and ahhs at the right moments. 

“I want our company to stand for unity and sustainability. But I want us to also progress forward. So many people are stuck in old ways, hiring the same people over and over again. No new ideas.” Daenerys laughs a soft trill. “Anyway, that’s why we hired Jon. New fresh ideas to make us better.” She turns to grin at Sansa, her smile perfectly casual. “How long have you known Jon?” 

Although Sansa had a feeling they would end up this way, she’s a little surprised by the abrupt change. She, to be honest, had expected a little more finesse from Daenerys. At least in this. 

“Oh,um. We grew up together.” She says. She can see her companions waiting for more. “He was a good friend of the family.” She finishes guilelessly. Daenerys nods and leads them into her office. She gestures for Sansa to sit and asks Missandei to get them some tea. Then she settles herself behind her large desk. 

“I’ve never seen Jon laugh.” Daenerys says looking keenly at Sansa. “Never heard him either. I was surprised to see it. And you. He never brings anyone around except Sam, who also works here..”

Sansa keeps her face deliberately blank. Missandei brings in the tea, serves them, and leaves. Daenerys stands up to face out the window looking like a film tycoon staring out over vast empire. The tea is the only thing refreshing in the closed room so Sansa sips for a while in silence. Daenerys sought her out. She has no intention of making this easy. Eventually, Daenerys turns to her.

“I’ve wasn’t meant to take over this company, you know. It was supposed to be my brother Rhaegar. But when he died, my brother Viserys took over. Only he knew nothing about business. I was shipped off to school, the company fell apart, Viserys died, and now I’m back.” She leans in closer to Sansa. “I’ve had to rebuild this company, brick by brick. And we’ve made such progress. But, I’ve been alone for so long. My brothers could be impetuous, overbearing, cruel. They weren’t perfect, but they were my brothers. And they are dead. So I thought I was alone. Until Jon. I thought I had to rebuild my family legacy alone. Until Jon”

Sansa thinks on how lucky she is to have her family here in England and her family in Norway. She thinks of Shireen and Davos building a family together, and her family here trying to understand and rally around her. And she thinks of Jon who is her family but isn’t and that’s a whole confused mess that she is still sorting her way through. 

She looks at Daenerys. Whether or not she really believes in sustainability like Jon or is just jumping on a trend, whether she is really dedicated to making the world a better place or just knows how to play this game, or whether all she really wants is to regain the “empire” her family once had, it is clear she feels alone. And she wants to bond with Jon. 

“I have such plans for this company. For our impact on the world. But I don’t want to do it alone. I have friends and advisors. But I want my family. How can I convince Jon to be my family?” 

“Take it slow.” is the only advice Sansa can think of. Jon deserves a family, but she isn’t sure how much he wants this one. “Jon is a reserved person. It takes him awhile to warm up to people.”

And although Daenerys nods, she can see the words don’t really resonate with the other woman. She looks like she wants to press Sansa further, but is interrupted by Missandei who steps in to inform Daenerys that her four o’clock has arrived. 

“You’ll have to excuse me.” She says looking at Sansa. 

“Of course.” Setting her teacup down, Sansa gets up to leave, remembering only at last minute to turn back. “Thank you for the tour. It was very kind of you.”

On her way out she steps past Gray Worm standing vigilant near a handsome young man holding a familiar coat. The man gives her a once over and a wink. The logo on the coat is familiar, but it doesn’t hit her until she is at the elevator heading to Jon’s office. It’s the Bolton logo. The security for the building is not Bolton Security, she realizes. Gray Worm’s uniform had a dragon on it. Not creepy old crest of the Bolton family. And Daenerys doesn’t trust them, if Gray Worm lurking is any clue. But why would Ramsay not come himself?

She makes it to Jon’s office to find him bent over his paperwork scowling. She gives herself a moment to watch him as he takes notes and mutters to himself. 

“Careful there, Jon” she says. “Your face will get stuck that way.” 

He looks up, startled and then pleased. 

“Hi. How was your tour?”

“Informative.” he’s still staring at her. “I’m fine. It was fine. She was very nice. But she did take up a lot more time than I anticipated. I should probably get the car back.” He nods like he doesn’t quite believe her but gets up to hug her goodbye. Remembering how it felt and how he blushed, she leans in to kiss his cheek, only he turns at last minute and she catches the corner of his lips. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

“You kissed?” Mya asks over the phone.

“Not exactly.” 

“But you wanted to?” 

“I don’t know.” She probably shouldn’t have called Mya, Sansa thinks to herself. She’s in her bedroom taking notes on what she’s learned recently. But she keeps getting distracted thinking about Jon’s flush and sitting so close to him at lunch. She can barely concentrate. It’s been a long time since she felt any pull towards a man. And it's very confusing. 

“That’s love.” Mya says with a mock sigh. “Oh, my darling Alayne.” There’s a pregnant pause, a weighted pause. “I mean, Sansa.”

The mood is broken. 

“I’m sorry, Mya.” She starts to say. “I didn’t...I had to…” But what can she say? Whatever her reasons, she did lie to a lot of people. What do reasons matter when the outcome is lies and confusion? 

“I know.” eventually Mya says. “I know. I just forget sometimes.” 

Her door bursts open and Arya pushes her way in, dropping a slew of papers on her bed. Arya motions for her to get off the phone. 

“Mya, can we hold this thought? Something has come up.”

“Sure, Sure. Leave me waiting. Wondering what is going on with you and your handsome Jon Snow. I tell you everything. You tell me nothing.” Sansa rolls her eyes but in truth is relieved. Mya likes to get dramatic sometimes, and if she is, it means she has forgiven Sansa. “I’ll tell Davos and Shireen you say hi. Call me soon. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Goodbye.” She hangs up and arches an eyebrow at Arya.

“Did you know that the Boltons security company works for Jon’s aunt’s company?” Arya says smugly.

“I did.” Sansa only feels a little bad watching Arya’s face drop. 

“Well, did you know that they are struggling? It turns out the Targaryens have less need for them because they have their own internal security company?” Arya says a little grumpily. At Sansa’s head shake, she continues more enthusiastically. “And did you know that they are trying to sell some land in the North but have run into problems because of Roose Bolton’s will? A will that states there can be no development on the land? That it has to stay as is to be sold?”

“How do you know this?” 

“I know people.”

“You know people? Who somehow have access to wills?” 

“Okay. Let’s talk.” Sansa looks at her younger sister. Looks at this woman grown who apparently knows hackers and spies or something. And she knows in her very soul that Arya is the one to help her. It surprises her a little. But she finds that it makes sense. “You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you right now. This stays between us. Because if Robb or especially Jon finds out, they will be furious.”

“Why especially Jon?” Arya interrupts archly.

“Never you mind that.” Sansa says primly moving some papers to allow her sister to sit. “Just promise.”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Okay.” She waits until her sister sits. And then she starts. “I think Ramsay Bolton is a serial killer in the North Pennines. I also think he might have had something to do with Jon’s ex girlfriend's death. I think he killed Roose Bolton. I think he had help. And now, with what you just said and what I saw when I visited Jon, I think Jon’s aunt is suspicious. That’s why she has a different security company in the building. That’s why there are rumors of her buying Bolton land but no real proof. And I think Roose Bolton knew his son’s perversions. I think he didn't care until they wanted to sell the land. Because if someone starts developing that land, they are going to start digging up bodies.”


	23. Free Folk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her conversation with Arya, Sansa seeks respite in her father’s library. There is a familiarity in the way she walks along the bookshelves, fingers trailing against the spines, skin dragging against the titles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I own nothing but the mistakes I make. I wish I owned more. 
> 
> I'm a little meh about this chapter which is why it took me longer to finish. Still, I hope it keeps our story moving. Advice on how to improve is always welcome. 
> 
> Thank you for your continued support.

After her conversation with Arya, Sansa seeks respite in her father’s library. There is a familiarity in the way she walks along the bookshelves, fingers trailing against the spines, skin dragging against the titles. She’s not sure where it is, but she doubts her father got rid of it. It takes her two lazy turns around the room before she finds it, off the shelves, on a side table near her father’s chair. “The Dragonknight: Tales of Aemon Targaryen.” She picks up the book and sits down in the oversized recliner.

The Targaryens that Jon is, apparently now, related to claim the fairy tales are based on a great great great great grandfather of theirs. She remembers being a little girl awed by the tales. She would ask her father to read them to her, over and over and over again. And he would. Every night until she was eight, he would read her one story before she went to sleep. He’d sit in a chair similar to the one she sits on, and she’d lay her head on his knee and let his deep voice flow over her. 

Aemon Targaryen would fight, conquer, and ride Dragons, vanquish grumpkins and snarks, battle evil cowardly kings, and save the fate of a maiden who would promise to love him forever though he had sworn to never marry or love but die in the service of his king. She imagined him as a golden warrior who gleamed like the sun. And of course, the maiden had red hair like hers, blue eyes like hers, but no freckles. Her father would read and then send her to bed with a kiss on her head and a promise that one day she would marry some as brave and gentle and strong as the Dragonknight. She held that promise close to her heart. 

She opens the book and caresses the pages. It’s worn and old, creased like someone had been reading it recently. She finds her favorite tale, The Maiden, and begins to read. 

She wakes with a start, the book still in her lap. Her father steps away from her, his hand retreating. 

“I’m sorry,” he says gently. “I was trying to wake you. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Somehow during her time reading, she fell asleep and slumped over in the chair. She blinks a few times to clear her eyes and sits up. Her father is standing near, smiling down at her. 

“That’s a familiar book in your hands,” he says, his smile becoming impossibly softer. She takes a moment to study him. They haven’t been alone together since she got home. Really, she hasn’t been alone with him or Robb, since that first day. Her father looks older. Time has been kind to him, but now he has wrinkles and the start of gray hair on the edges of his hairline. He is still a handsome man, she thinks. 

“I found it here. It’s been a long time since I read it.” she finally says, softly, tentatively. “Or had it read to me.” He nods and takes a seat opposite of her.

“I like to read it myself. When you were gone, it made me feel close to you.” He tells her. There is nothing accusatory in his face. If anything he looks fond and a touch embarrassed. But his voice is as strong and as sure as it has always been. “I remembered how much you loved it as a little girl.” 

She blinks back a few tears and smooths her hands over the book, carefully closing it, cradling it in her lap. They sit there in the quiet for a few moments. She can hear a clock ticking behind her. Her father settles further in his seat making it clear that he is as comfortable in the silence as she is. She traces the title on the front of the hardback watching the gold letters disappear beneath her fingers. 

“I spoke with your Davos Seaworth once.” Her father says suddenly. “I didn’t know at the time, but he did me quite a favor.” She looks up at him. He laughs a little at the look on her face. “I know you called on Father’s Day. I didn’t know then, but I had hoped. Robb looked up the number, and I called the B&B you worked at. I spoke to him then.”

“He told me. He said someone called looking for a Sansa Stark.” Her heart aches a little thinking of Davos and Shireen. “He told me,” she continues “That there is nothing worse for a parent than not knowing.”

Her father nods. 

“There is some truth to that. Your mother and I, we constantly worried. Were you healthy? Did you get enough to eat? Those postcards you sent, they were a blessing because we could focus on those worries instead of...” he takes a shuddering breath. “Because at least we knew you were alive.”

“I…” she can’t quite finish her sentence. 

“Your Davos, he told me there was no one named Sansa Stark there. But then, then he kept talking. He told me about his sort of adopted daughters. Told me they were good girls and that it was his privilege and honor to look after them and support them. Told me one was named Alayne and that she was a credit to her real parents. That she was courageous and intelligent and would outlive us all. Then he told me that winter can be cold, but no one in town would do without. Your Davos is a good man.”

“He is.” She bites her lip to prevent herself from crying or flinging herself at her father. “Dad, I…”

“I’m glad you had a support system, Sansa. All I’ve ever wanted for you was health and happiness. That girl Alayne that Davos spoke of, she sounded like someone stories are written about.” He motions to the book in her lap. “She sounded like someone brave and gentle and strong. I want you to know that I am incredibly proud of her, of you. And I’m honored that you came home to let us support you.” 

He gets up and takes the book from her, gently squeezing one of her hands. Leaning in, slowly and carefully, he kisses the very top of her head. 

“Thank you for coming home.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The day they head to meet the Free Folk is unusually warm for March. They get up extra early and head out. It’s reminiscent of their morning walks in Flam so Sansa shows up with mugs of coffee and some scones she made the night before. She makes Jon drive while Ghost lounges in the back.

Upon seeing Ghost leaving with Sansa, both Lady and Shaggydog try to come with. But while Jon gets everything settled in the car, she packed a lunch and snacks too, Sansa dumps all the dogs in Rickon’s bed, silently sending an apology to her mother. Usually, they all sleep in the den to keep control of the mess. Her mother hates them on the upper floors, but desperate times and all that. 

Rickon sleepily murmurs as all five dogs wriggle over him and then fall asleep in the warm open spaces on his bed. She ruffles his hair and tucks the blankets around him. When she turns to leave, she finds Robb standing in the door rubbing his eyes. 

“I thought I heard someone.” He murmurs. 

“Shhhh.” She tiptoes out of the room, motioning him to follow, closing the door behind her. “The puppies wanted to come with.” 

“And where are you and Jon going so early in the morning?” There is a note of hurt in his voice. It’s clear he is trying not to let it show. After all, he hasn’t been involved in her life for awhile. She finds herself studying him like she often finds herself studying all of her family. Looking for the changes, reacquainting herself with the slopes of their noses and the wrinkles on their faces; with the way they move, the way they speak. 

“I’m working on a project that Jon is helping me with.” she finally settles on.

“And I can’t help you?” He says shifting on his feet.

“I think…” she says delicately “you wouldn’t want to.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it has to do with Theon.”

“Sansa,” he says a little startled. “You don’t owe him anything.”

He’ll always be her overprotective brother. He’ll always want to blame someone else for the bad things that happen to her. And he can blame someone. Only he’s chosen the wrong someone to find fault with. She smiles sadly. 

“You’re wrong,” she says as she heads down the stairs. “I owe him a lot.”

Robb sees them off. Things between him and Jon are still a little tense. But he understands, as best he can. So he’s forgiven Jon when there was nothing to forgive. Jon takes that with gratitude and relief. Their relationship is a funny little thing. Robb has always loved hard and openly. But he expects a lot. It’s hard to live up to the type of expectations Robb has. And Sansa would know. He forgets, sometimes, that his friends and family are human and prone to mistakes and are allowed to have opinions that differ from his. 

But she knows he means well, this sometimes overbearing brother of hers so she surprises the both of them but leaning up and giving him a brief tentative barely felt hug before bolting for the car. She’s in the car and buckled up before he can even react. So he shakes Jon’s hand and heads back inside. 

It’s a relatively easy drive. They stop for coffee, and Sansa plays around with the music. She’s not worried about waking anyone in the back. She watches Ghost’s ears to see what he dislikes. He’s the only one dozing. It’s nice having someone else drive she thinks. This time she’s able to enjoy the scenery as they drive. Once they get off the main roads and into a little more wandering, it gets beautiful quickly. She watches the sunrise from the passenger side. It’s a lovely day. The sun warms the car enough that she slides her sweater off and tosses it on Ghost, giggling when he huffs and shifts it off. He never opens an eye. 

And things are surprisingly relaxed with Jon. She had expected a little awkwardness with Jon since she sort of almost kissed him. But maybe it was mostly in her head because he didn’t seem anything but normal. Maybe he acts like that with all his friends. She bites her lip a little and keeps looking out the music, peeking at sideways at Jon humming and tapping his fingers on the wheel. 

They make a pit stop at the same roadside coffee shop Sansa stopped the last time. She walks Ghost while Jon calls Val. He admits he doesn’t actually know where the Free Folk reside but that Val is willing to meet them and show the way. Sansa throws a stick for Ghost for a while. He plays fetch for a few minutes and then spends the rest of the time begging for pets. 

“Val should be here in a few. She’s not far.” Jon says settling next to her on a picnic bench, handing her a cup of tea. “Hungry?”

“Not really.” She’s a little nervous and prone to overthinking the entire situation. It’s making her a little sick to her stomach. She sips at the tea. It’s lemon and ginger. He knows her so well. “This is exactly what I needed.”

“Good.” He smiles at Ghost dozing now, head in her lap.

“Jon,” She takes his hand with the hand that isn’t petting Ghost. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

“I’d pretty much do anything for you, Sansa. I think you know that.” He looks up at her, smiling sheepishly. 

“Jon, I…” 

A car pulls up, honking. They both look up, startled. Val hops out of the car, grinning. She looks exactly how Sansa remembers her. Beautiful, bold, relaxed. She makes her way over to them, both of them standing. 

“Hiya Jon.” She says, shoving her hand out. They shake. Then to Sansa and Ghost, “Hello, again.” 

“Hello.” Sansa smiles formally and extends her hand. “My name is Sansa. My apologies if I was…”

“You were fine.” Val interrupts. “I startled you last time. It’s good to meetcha. Come on. Follow me.”

She takes them winding through backways that Sansa had avoided the last time she’d come here. Val is a considerate leader, taking the way slowly enough that they can follow her. She’s respectful at any stops, making sure they were right behind her and no other cars cut between them. 

“She seems nice.” Sansa settles on as they drive. Jon turns quickly to give her a bemused look. 

“Aye. They’re all nice.” He’s laughing at her. She can tell. But her default is to be polite and polite people say kind things. Val is doing them a favor so she will endeavor to be a considerate guest. She can’t begrudge Jon his humor though. 

Her nerves grow the closer they get to the compound. The roads get windier and more remote. Trees loom over them. Val deftly navigates them through one lane roads stopping for sheep and hikers. Sansa tries to regulate her breathing. Slow and steady. She doesn’t know these people. She doesn’t really know where they are. It’s like they’ve accidentally time traveled to a place without cell service or people. And she knows, somewhere nearby is Country Reek. And that means that somewhere out there might be Ramsay. 

There’s a man waiting outside the building they pull up to. He reminds her of Tormund even though he shouldn’t. He’s older. He isn’t a redhead. He doesn’t have an easy smile. But there is something in the way he holds himself, big and strong and free. And he is a big man, tall and broad-shouldered with dark and gray hair. He doesn’t look like a man who smiles easy, world-weary wrinkles line his face. Jon steps out first, letting Ghost out. Sansa takes a moment longer. 

It’s a shack in the middle of the woods with no one around except Val, Jon, this stranger, and her. She only half trusts Jon’s instincts. He’s kind, and in her experience, kind people are easy to take advantage of. But she does trust Ghost. And Ghost seems comfortable and at ease.She gets out of the car. 

“Mance, hi. Thanks for meeting us,” She hears Jon say as they walk up to the other man. She reaches her hand out for Ghost, using him as her touchstone. “This is my friend, Sansa. She wanted to talk to you. Sansa, this is Mance Rayder. He’s the sort of unofficial leader of the Free Folk.”

The man, Mance, watches her for a moment. He glances down to her fingers buried in Ghost’s fur. Then up to her face. His dark eyes meet hers. She’s not sure what he sees in them, but soon enough he’s nodding and beckoning them inside with a promise of something warm to drink. 

“I think Mance likes ya,” Val says to her as they walk in together. Then with a smirk, “He doesn’t usually let people inside.”

The inside is roomy and bare. It reminds her a little of her apartment in Flam: no knick-knacks or clutter, just the bare bones of a room, a few chairs, a table, and a lot of light coming through the windows. Mance is pouring tea into old chipped cups. He looks up at them when they wander in, nodding at Val. Sansa sits at the table next to Jon and smiles uncomfortably at Mance, thanking him as he hands her a cup of tea. 

“I hear ya’re looking Bolton land,” Mance says finally. “Why would ya go looking for trouble, girl?” before she can answer, the barrels on. “Oh, Jon told me how kind ya are. Saving the poor Greyjoy boy’s life. Trying to prevent him from jail. Jail’s probably better than where he was. Roose Bolton’s dead. Ya could at least reason with him. Ya ever heard of Ramsay Bolton?”

“Jon didn’t tell you?” She asks looking steadily back at him. This may be their territory, she thinks, but Ramsay’s hers. “I lived with him.”

Mance settles back in his seat and considers her. She can hear Val getting up and moving around. When Val starts to set cookies down on the table, Sansa knows. And she knows what to do. The cookie tray hits her cup.

The tea goes everywhere. 

“Shoot.” She says, jumping a little. Even though she knew it was coming, she forgot it would be hot. Val’s right there handing her a napkin, apologizing profusely. But waves it off like it's not big deal. It is no big deal. “Oh! Jon, I left my sweater in the car, will you go grab it for me? This shirt is soaked.” 

“Of course.” Jon gets up quickly. Of course, he does, her kind knight in warm flannel. He’s going to go get her sweater and Val is going to follow him and distract him for a moment. They leave. 

“You already knew I lived with him,” she says once they’ve left, looking steadily at Mance who hasn’t moved a muscle. “Jon didn’t tell you. But you knew. So, how long have you had Ramsay under surveillance? And how many Free Folk have gone missing?”

“Clever girl.” He gets her another cup of tea. “Four years. Ten people. We followed ya, that night. Val did. Well, she tried to. She lost ya at the mall. Nothing crazy, we just wanted to ask ya some questions. And then ya disappeared and two years later, Val calls to tell me she’s seen two Ghosts. And Jon Snow calls out the blue saying he’s got a friend looking for answers.”

“How much proof have you got?”

“None. Nothing to pin on him. Except,” Mance glances at the door. Val wasn’t able to hold Jon long. He’s ever so protective of her. “The night Roose Bolton died, Ramsay claims he was off dealing with a Wildling attack on Targaryen property. The one that ended with an explosion killing that group of Wildlings and at least seven security guards.” She can hear Jon on the steps and Val’s voice, loud and stringent. “But the thing is, Ramsay wasn’t there. There was just someone who looked like him. From the back. That’s all the cameras see: Ramsay from the back. The explosion was to kill anyone who could say otherwise. They tried but not everyone died.”


	24. An interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies, my friends. RL got in the way and then I tried to write and ran into problems and then I got discourage. And then I was cooking dinner and started writing this in my head. So we get a little short chapter because I was sort of inspired. 
> 
> It's a little thank you to everyone who keeps reading and supporting and just being super nice in general. Thank you and my apologies for this delay. 
> 
> I own nothing but my mistakes. Awesome characters are not mine. This is 100% not edited. Also I wrote it in two days and was like, let's post it anyway. So please forgive any mistakes along with my delay. 
> 
> And thank you for continuing to read.

She excuses herself to the bathroom when Jon brings her sweater. The cottage is small and not well insulated and she can hear Jon asking Mance what they talked about. Mance is purposefully vague, and while Jon acquiesces, she can hear in his voice that he’s not sold. She slides her shirt off and her sweater on and looks at herself in the mirror. Her hair is tied back. She has bags under her eyes. The sweater isn’t flattering. 

She looks real. She feels real. 

Mance is explaining something to Jon as she washes her hands. She can’t hear what they are talking about but knows it isn’t too important. He’s waiting for her. She’s his real audience. There’s something about the way he and Val avoid telling Jon anything of substance. They don’t trust him. It’s in Mance’s tone. She learned a lot about a man’s tone from her time with Ramsay. The cabin falls silent. 

She hears a knock at the door and assuming that it’s Jon opens it. It’s not. It’s Val who, with the ease of someone used to doing whatever they wanted with no one stopping them, shoves her way into the tiny bathroom. Val pretends to fix her hair.

“There’s a lot Mance isn’t tell you or Jon.” Val whispers giving up the pretence and turning to Sansa. “He don’t trust Jon.”

Sansa nods. 

“I do.”

She turns back to the sink and washes her hands, looking up to meet Sansa’s eyes in the mirror. 

“The boy who survived, he’s a minor who won’t talk to Mance. That’s why we didn’t tell anyone. He hates the Free Folk and the Wildlings. His parents were one of us, and when they died, when he watched them die, well. He has no family. We tried to take him in, but he wasn’t getting better, just angrier. I knew Jon when he was with Ygritte. I knew him when she died. If anyone would understand Olly, it’s Jon.” 

Val wipes her hands on a towel and leans in closer to Sansa, voice still low.

“Mance is afraid to let anyone know about Olly because he thinks they’ll take him away. Not everything we do is...legal. We’re not violent, but we aren’t saints. He’s afraid Olly will spill everything to get back at us. I think Olly needs closure. He’s with an old couple who used to be one of us but left when their son died. They all need closure. Here,” Val hands Sansa her phone. “Put your number in. I’ll get you in contact with em.”

Sansa enters her information and hands back the phone, watching as Val shoves in in her pockets. 

“Mance doesn’t trust that Jon will keep our secrets. He thinks Jon is a good guy, but too caught up working within the law. That’s what Ygritte told us. But, like I said. I know Jon. He’s not so straight and narrow as everyone thought. He’ll always do what’s right, even if it’s not good. He’s not above manipulating the law to get things done. He just doesn’t like the violence. Don’t you be like Mance.”

Val slips from the tiny room leaving Sansa alone. She’s right. Jon will do the right thing, the moral thing, not necessarily the lawful thing. She looks in the mirror again. She looks tired, worn, as though all of this knowledge was weighing her down. Would it be so bad to share a little of the weight? She finds her phone has one bar so she shoots Arya a quick text and makes the decision to tell Jon everything. 

In the morning. 

When she returns to the room, Mance has spread out a map for Jon to look at. He’s circling areas in different colors. 

“This is where his land starts.” Mance is telling Jon. “But he has protections in place. No fence to guard it but a pack of dogs. They’re the only animals there. Nothing else will go on his land. That’s how you’ll know it. The silence. The stillness. There’s nothing there. It’s unnatural.”

Both Jon and Mance looks up when Sansa returns.

“You can bribe the dogs, but it's gotta be real meat.” Mance says looking straight at Sansa willing her to understand. “They won’t take dog food. Raw meat or nothing.” She understands. 

He looks back down at the map.

“Here’s where the land ends. There’s no mark to tell you, but you’ll know. It’s like the forest starts breathing again.” 

He outlines the land carefully, explains how it’s not too far from here or from where the Free Folk actually live. The cabin is just a meeting ground. But everyone knows not to go on Bolton land. Not anymore at least. 

“My sister went missing.” Val tells them softly when Mance steps outside for a smoke. “She was pregnant. Lived with Mance. She went out one day for a walk. Never came back. We know it’s that Bolton bastard.”

She shuts up as soon as Mance returns. By then it’s gotten late and Mance offers them the use of the cabin for the night. Sansa searches for another bar to call her mom, but is only able to type out another text. Calls won’t go through, but the text seems to work fine. She tells Arya they are staying the night with limited to no phone access. But they’ll drive back in the morning. 

“It can get cold at night” Mance says handing out blankets and helping Sansa make the pull out couch. Val has already disappeared into the woods with a slight goodbye. Mance takes a few moments to fuss with the cabin, start the fire in the fireplace, and wash their cups. 

“You be careful.” he says finally where there is nothing left to straighten. He’s talking to both her and Jon, but he’s looking at her. And then he slips from the cabin and is gone. Jon locks the door behind him and turns to Sansa. 

“What’s going on, Sansa.” Jon asks. She smooths out the blankets on the couch. 

“Do you trust me, Jon?”

“What?” He barks out a surprised laugh. “Of course.” then softer “of course.”

She turns to him. He’s hunched into himself and she realizes he’s vulnerable and unsure too. And she unequivocally trusts him more than she trusts anyone. More than she trusts her mother and her father and her sister and her brothers. She trusts him. Tomorrow she’ll tell him things that may make him angry, things that may make him yell or cry or be short with her, but she knows in the very core of her that whatever she says, whatever emotion he has, he will not hurt her. She can count on that. 

She will tell him everything in the morning. She will tell him her suspicions. She will tell him what Mance was warning. She will tell him every detail down to what she just texted Arya in the bathroom. Tomorrow he’ll know everything even her theories and suspicions. But tonight. 

Tonight.

She takes two steps forward and kisses him. 

He’s the same height as her, maybe even shorter, but their bodies fit. Their mouths aline perfectly. It’s not effort to fit her mouth against his. She kisses him tentatively and curiously. She kisses him like she’s never kissed anyone before, like this is her first kiss. And maybe it is. Maybe it’s the first kiss that counts.

It takes a moment. It takes a moment but then he kisses back just as softly and carefully and questioning. It’s not biting and punishing like Ramsay. It’s not slobbery and overzealous like Joffrey. It’s tentative and awkward and she swears they are both laughing in it, just the edges of hysteria. 

His hands rise up and rest on her sides lightly where she curves. She can feel the heat of his hand through her sweater. She can feel his warmth and strength and how he is careful, so careful with her. Not because she’s fragile. She can feel that. He doesn’t think she’s fragile or broken, but because she’s precious and important and worth so much more. 

Her heart is beating fast like a wound up toy. She wants to run. She wants to scream. She wants to laugh and jump and fly. She never wants to stop kissing him. She destroys the bun his hair is in. Lets it out. Runs her hands through it. Kisses him. 

In the early days with Ramsay, she thought passion was his biting punishing kisses, his possessive wandering hands pinching into her skin. She thought he was overcome with his passion that he couldn’t control himself. That was a lie.

Jon kisses like he never wants to do anything else, but his hands are always careful. They tighten around her waist. Their lips press harder against each other, but nothing hurts. Nothing hurts. There is pressure, but it feels nice, like he’s holding on because he’s afraid this isn’t real. But maybe that’s just her. They kiss and kiss and kiss some more. 

“Sansa.” He’s laughing and panting. “I didn’t think…”

“I trust you, Jon.” she says, hand wiping at her lip, a nervous tick. “I trust YOU. I want you. I want you to hold me. I want you to kiss me.”

“I want that too.” He says. And he’s still laughing. She’s never seen anything so wonderful as Jon Snow happy. 

“I don’t know if I”ll…” She starts to say, knowing that getting into anything with her is not a guarantee that she’ll ever want the things other people want in a relationship. Or if she’ll even ever want a real relationship. Right now she wants to kiss Jon and that’s all she knows. But she wants him to be aware. She needs him to be aware. She’s not sure about anything more than kisses. 

“I don’t care.” He interrupts. “I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

“Okay.” 

She takes his hand and leads him to the bed where they lie down facing each other still holding hands. She falls asleep like that, watching Jon breathe. The light from the fireplace casting a soft glow on his face. His eyes meet hers and the last thing she sees is the crinkle around his eye like he can’t stop smiling. 

In the morning everything may change. But at least she had this.


	25. Tiny Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wakes to Jon’s laughter and Ghost’s breath. One is pleasant. The other not so much. The rickety bed shakes every time Ghost wags his tail, which he does enthusiastically when her blue eyes meet his red ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Thank you all for continuing to read.
> 
> This didn't go where I originally planned it but I'm going with it. 
> 
> This is, of course, edited only by me so prone to mistakes and inaccuracies. I also do not own the characters, books, shows, or really anything.
> 
> -quick second update because of an edit I missed. -

She wakes to Jon’s laughter and Ghost’s breath. One is pleasant. The other is not. The rickety bed shakes every time Ghost wags his tail, which he does enthusiastically when her blue eyes meet his red ones. His snout is inched up almost to her nose. She blinks and then stifles a yawn before lightly pushing him away. When she sits up, she finds Jon at the table setting up tea. 

“He’s a little obsessed with you.” Jon offers motioning towards Ghost who is trying to scoot closer somehow. “I don’t blame him. I’m rather fond of you myself.” Then he blushes.

“ I’m glad” she says running her hands through Ghost’s fur and leaning into give him a kiss on his ears. “On both accounts.” and then, to spare them both further. “Is that tea for me?”

“Aye.” He takes a sniff of it. “It’s a little stale. I think Mance took the good tea with him when he left. And there’s nothing to eat.”

“We can stop.” She smiles at him. “If you play your cards right, Mr. Snow, I’ll buy you brekkie.” She kisses the top of Ghost’s head once more before getting out of the bed to join Jon at the table. They sip at the tea a little, it’s awful and stale. Jon huffs out a laugh at her face and takes the mug from her, pouring both of them out in the sink. 

She freshens up on the bathroom, rinses out her mouth with water. She wants to kiss Jon again, but morning breath and all. She wants to get in one more kiss or two before they talk. She loads Ghost in the car and waits for Jon to finish freshening up as well. Apparently he had the same idea because he stops her from entering the car with a hand on her shoulder.

“Can I…” he starts to say.

“Oh God yes.” she laughs before surging up to kiss him. Their kisses taste faintly of stale tea and water. It’s her favorite kiss yet. They both pull away reluctantly when Ghost starts scratching at the door trying to get to them. When Sansa slides into the car, Ghost shoves as much of his body between the front seats, his tail furiously wagging again. She nuzzles the top of his head, eyes flashing over to Jon when he slides in laughing at her.

“You’ll spoil him.” He says, starting the car. 

“He could use a little spoiling.” 

They stop for breakfast at an organic farm restaurant near Boldron. It’s a little out of their way, but it sounds nice and has lovely fresh bread. Sansa splurges on a latte and sips it, trying to remember the last time she had one. In Flam she stuck mostly with tea, finding comfort in it. But she and Jeyne used to go for coffees before she dropped out of school. She watches Jon demolish his breakfast, soaking up the sauce with his bread. She likes how comfortable he is with her. He looks up and flushes when he sees her watching him.

“Sorry.” he says wiping his mouth.

“Don’t be. As someone who frequently cooks, it’s nice watching people enjoy themselves.” She lets them relax for a few moments longer and makes the decision to talk to him here, in public, waiting until he has finished. 

“Can we...can we talk here?” she says and watches as it dawns on him that they were supposed to have a conversation about things she knows that he doesn’t. He nods and pushes his plate out of the way. 

“This might be hard to hear,” she starts.

“I want to hear it anyway.”

“I know. I know. Um...How do I start?” her fingers tremble a little as she pauses to take a sip of her coffee. She wants so hard to believe that this won’t drive them apart. “I want to help Theon, you know this. I know for sure that he has nothing to do with Roose Bolton’s death as he was with me that night. We both know this. I think Ramsay killed his father. I think you think that too. This is where it’s hard, Jon.” She takes his hand and lowers her voice.

“I think Ygritte and the Wildling’s deaths were purposeful in order to both leave no witnesses and to give Ramsay an alibi.” When he tries to pull away, she tightens her fingers. “I think that he had a friend pretend to be him in front of cameras: a man that looked a little like him from the back; a man I met in the woods. I think they both like to hurt people, and that’s what Roose was hiding. I think anyone who has gone missing in the Pennines, those tourists and Free Folk, were hunted down and killed by Ramsay for sport.” She swallows hard. “And at first I thought he buried the bodies, but now I think he has apack of dogs eat them.” 

She bites her lip. Jon is staring at her, stark white. 

“That’s not all.” Her grip tightens even further. She pitches her voice even lower. “I think your aunt is suspicious of the the explosion. I think she is investigating it on her own, but I think she wants to protect her company and she is willing to bury information if it paints the company in a bad light.” He nods looking down at the table. “There’s more, Jon.”A little boy didn’t die in the explosion. He lived though his parents died. And he saw everything. But he won’t talk to anyone. And he hates the Free Folk. Val thinks you might be able to talk to him because you understand what that explosion took, and you could convince him to explain what really happened that night." She lets go of his hand and watches him yank his hand back before scrambling to his feet and running out the door.

She sighs and glances at the waiter hovering nearby eavesdropping.

“Could I get our check, please? Thank you.” She says smiling as best she can at him. She can almost feel the pity in his eyes as he runs to get it. He probably thinks they’ve just broken up or something. Jon still isn’t back so she pays and steps outside. For a brief moment she wonders if she’s stuck here and if she’s going to have to call Arya for a ride or something.

But Jon isn’t Ramsay or Joffrey or any of the awful people she’s met in her life. He’s sitting on the hood of the car smoking, Ghost docile and forlorn at his feet. He looks up as she walks his way, sliding off the car the nearer she gets.

“I’m sorry I…” he says.

“Don’t be.”

“Needed a moment.” He crushes the cigarette beneath his feet. “I needed a moment.” He wipes his hands on his pants and reaches for her, startling her. He pulls her in close and just leans his head against her shoulder. 

“Fuck, Sansa.” He says after holding her for a few moments. “I’m fucking angry at you. You shoulda told me about all of this. We’re a team.” He pulls back and looks at her. “Have you told me everything?”

“Almost?” She admits. He doesn’t really know about Arya’s involvement. 

“Okay. Let’s go.” He pulls away. “I’m gonna be mad at you for awhile but it’s a long ride home. Tell me everything.”

And she does. 

\------------------------------------------------------

He drops her off at home and leaves before being invited for dinner. 

“I need some time to think. I’m angry and upset.” He tells her calmly but firmly. “You are putting yourself and Arya in danger on purpose. You put Rickon in danger on accident. You’re blindly feeling about learning information without backup. You gotta….” He stops and swallows. “I know how hard this is for you but you gotta trust me.”

“I do.” She starts to interrupt.

“You don’t. You don’t if you are not telling me everything. If it was just about Ygr...Ygritte, I could understand. But...I’ve told you about her. Things I didn’t tell anyone and I told you I wanted to find out what happened. You not sharing this information with me...It says you don’t trust me, and more than that, it says you don’t care how much it matters to me. That hurts.”

“I’m sorry, Jon.” She says. He nods and says nothing else. She was in the wrong. Her stomach roils at his disappointment. But he kisses her once more before she leaves like he can’t help himself, brushes her hair from her eyes and presses his lips softly, chastly against hers. She tries not to think about how dark and solemn his eyes were.

She finds Robb and Arya sitting in on her bedroom floor surrounded by puppies having a stare off. It’s the oddest thing she’s ever seen, and she’d laugh except neither looks like they are having fun. They both turn when she walks in. 

“I need to talk to you.” they both say at the same time, quickly turning back to glare at each other. 

“Okay.” Sansa drops her purse on her bed and reaches down to pat an excited Lady. “Can I shower first?”

Arya sticks around while Sansa showers, leaving only to let her dress which Sansa won’t lie is a relief. Her family may know about what happened to her, but it’s a different thing seeing it, and her body still bears the proof of her survival. She still doesn’t look in the mirror but throws on something warm and baggy and comfortable, taking the time to twist her hair back. Lady winds around her feet, rubbing up against her like a cat. She scoops the happy puppy up, reminded how fast puppies grow when her arms struggle to hold the dog. 

Arya is just outside the door practically vibrating. As soon as Sansa opens the door, Arya barrels in. 

“That thing you asked about. I got a lead, but it involves a visit to Jon’s work. Can you make that happen?”

“I’m not sure.” Sansa admits. “Things are a little...I told him. Everything.”

“Yeah? So?” Sansa's silence is pointed and she can practically see Arya put it together. “You and him? Really? I guess I can see it. Better than him pining, I guess. He pissed you didn’t tell him?”

“Worried, I think. Told him about you too so expect a call.” Arya scoffs at that.

“Fuck you too.” She sighs. “He’s gonna be insufferable. Like he doesn’t realize I’m not a little kid anymore. Between him and Robb…” She rolls her eyes then. “Speaking of which, he’s waiting to talk to you. Get me to Jon’s work. I can make things happen.”

And she’s gone, hollering for Robb as she goes. Sansa is equal parts amused and annoyed. The amount of noise Arya can create while simultaneously sneak up on a person is astounding. Arya pops back just once to murmer almost begrudgingly that she thinks they'll be good for each other before she's gone again so quickly, Sansa almost feels like she imagined it. 

When Robb slinks in Greywind is following neatly behind him, and something about the way the two walk in causes a sinking sensation in her stomach. 

“I’m sorry.” he says roughly, leaning against the door. He closes his eyes She takes a moment to study him. He looks pale and sick. He looks like he hasn’t been sleeping. 

“For what?” She says sitting down on her bed, Lady wiggling out of her arms. 

“Not being a better listener.” He says looking up at her. “For being selfish enough to be jealous of Jon. For expecting you to trust me without giving you a reason to. For not telling you enough how proud I am to have you as a sister or reminding you how much I love you.”

His blue eyes so similar to hers are full. He looked heavy, weighted down. He wasn’t telling her something.

“I’m so sorry, Sansa.” He says. “I should have...Eventually I would have…”

“What’s going on, Robb?”

“I” His hands clench. “I went to see Theon yesterday morning after you left. It was eye opening. He cried. I might have cried too. I don’t know. It’s all a blur.”

“Oh. That’s good right?” 

“Asha called an hour ago. There was a fight this morning at the prison. They told her it was rival gangs and that Theon got in the middle of it somehow. He’s alive but in critical condition. She went to the hospital to see him. The uh. The thing is, Theon wasn’t exactly stabbed, Sansa. Somebody carved your name into his chest just above his heart. ”


	26. At the Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something beautiful and uncomfortable about watching Robb hover over Theon’s hospital bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dudes. I am so sorry for going awol and returning only with this tiny chapter. Real life and lack of inspiration/energy caused this hiatus and short chapter. But hopefully it will sending us where we need to go.
> 
> I own naught but my grammatical errors and eternal gratitude to people still reading this. Thank you.
> 
> Um...fyi this was written during my lunch breaks and is 100% not edited by professionals. ;)

There is something beautiful and uncomfortable about watching Robb hover over Theon’s hospital bed. Maybe it's because she remembers wounds Ramsay gave Theon, wounds that received no attention. Or maybe it's because once Theon was Robb's so wholly and unreservedly, that their separation sliced Theon open in a way he never seemed to recover from. She and Theon never spoke about Robb, his exclusion from their lives punctuated by their bitter silence, but he must have ached at the Robb void that one day existed. 

And now Robb hovers, flits about the hospital bed, fixing blankets and fluffing pillows as if to ease his confusion and despair. When he comes close, she can smell the salt from tears and the light musk of sweat and fear. He hovers over her as well, tensing whenever anyone enters the room, even Asha who kindly allows them to sit with Theon. 

Asha watches Robb, hawkeyed and suspicious, but she doesn’t say anything. Theon is knocked out deep. It’d been a fight to get him the good drugs, his past causing the doctors to regard them all with suspicion. They’d refused Theon pain relief at first despite the seriousness of his injuries, reasoning that he was a junkie, and junkies lie about the pain. It was Robb threatening to sue everyone in sight that finally convinced them to give Theon morphine. Robb used just enough jaragon to put the fear of God in everyone, and garner enough respect or at least appreciation from Asha to get himself into Theon’s room. 

When Theon was awake, his eyes had remained fixed on Robb and his hand clasping Sansa’s. Theon never said a word though Robb kept adjusting his blankets and fluffing his pillow and being all sorts of overwhelming and weird. Sansa had to hiss at Robb to stop before he would sit down. And then he just stared at his hands while Asha paced the room and Theon clutched at Sansa. Eventually Theon got the good stuff and fell asleep while the rest of them sat there in silence.

“You should go get some coffee” Robb tells Sansa finally shattering the silence. “Take a break.” 

Theon is still gripping Sansa’s hand, even in his sleep he clenches at her. When she tries to slide her hand out, he shifts and groans as if pained by the possibility of her leaving. But in a surprisingly efficient and gentle move, Robb swaps his hand in for hers and smiles tentatively at her. 

“Go.”

And she does. She leaves Robb and Asha to the soft huffs of Theon’s breathing and the beeps of the hospital equipment. She leaves them to step into the busy hallway and then out and down and outside where she can breathe again without the smell of bleach and sickness. Her fingers shake a little when she takes out her phone. She wants to call Jon. She wonders if he even knows. She wants to hear his voice. She wants him to tell her it's going to be okay, that Theon can come back from this, that Theon won’t grow to resent her name carved into his body. But Jon asked for time. And the least that she can give him is that. 

She calls Davos instead and nearly cries at his scratchy hello. She slides to the ground and sits on the cold concrete, hard brick at her back. 

“Tell me something good.” she asks not even waiting to give pleasantries. “Please.” If her voice breaks and cracks, he pretends not to notice and instead tells her about a project Shireen is working on. She had recently decided she wanted to be a teacher and was practicing on him. 

“I’m learning to read French.” he tells Sansa, the barest hint of amusement in his voice. “But in order to learn to read French, I also have to learn to speak French. It’s a very slow process. But Shireen tells me I’ll be reading without her in no time.” 

Sansa laughs wetly and Davos continues. She learns about the coffee shop barista’s new romance; about Grenn and Pyp dating Myranda at the same time and everyone being quite happy with the arrangement despite the disapproval from Myranda’s father; about the town hall renovations and past two months of deliberations. 

“They’re adding a clock.” Davos rages suddenly. “I ‘ad to go to meetings upon meetings to talk about a clock.” And she can picture him in his office, hands pressed against the desk, warm sweater and disheveled beard, eyes bright with humor and fond exasperation. “And they still ‘aven’t decided on what color the clock should be.”

He talks to her, soft and smooth, and she lets the comforting tenor of his voice wash over her, and feels her shoulders untense and the lump in her throat dissipate. But eventually he has to go to take care of guests and a returning Shireen.

“Call more often.” He says suddenly at the very end. “We miss you.”

“I miss you too. So much.” They both linger on the phone, wanting to hold onto just a little longer. The eventual silence when he hangs up is a reality check she doesn’t want. 

She’s been so selfish and wrapped up in the drama that is half her making and half a product of a diseased mind that she has neglected her other family, maybe even her family here. When was the last time she asked Davos about himself? When was the last time she listened to Shireen talk about school. She didn’t even know Shireen wanted to be a teacher. When did she stop asking about them?

She buries her face in her hands and cries. She cries missing Davos and Shireen. She cries for Theon in a room upstairs, still hurting because of her. She cries for Jon who was just starting to trust her. She cries because her choices hurt people. She’s always hurting people. And yet, yet somehow they still love and forgive her. She cries in gratitude and sorrow. 

It’s a kleenex shoved into her fingers that alerts her she isn’t alone. She looks up to Asha’s blank and familiar face. Asha has no pity but also no comfort to offer. She calms herself. Uses the Kleenex. She sits in silence next to a solid Asha. 

“It’s not your fault.” Asha says finally. She takes out a cigarette and lights it. “It really isn’t.” She helps Sansa up, her hand strong and warm. In a surprisingly compassionate way, Asha doesn’t let go immediately. She squeezes once, almost reassuringly. 

“It’s not yours. It’s not Theon’s. It’s Ramsay’s. Don’t forget that.” Asha’s direct stare is unwavering. “And if anyone’s name had to be carved onto his chest, he’d want it to be yours. Remember that, if anything. If it’s your name, it’s not so bad.” 

It’s only then that she lets go and walks away, quickly and briskly like she wants to forget this shared moment. Sansa slides her phone in her pocket and makes her way back inside, look back only once to see Asha smoking by the emergency exit. 

There’s a doctor in the room when Sansa arrives, a pretty young doctor that Robb is grinning at. She seems both flattered and vexed by his attention.

“Is Theon okay?” Sansa interrupts Robb’s flirtations. To his credit, he goes from being smarmy charming to serious in a matter of seconds, his attention still focused on the doctor.

“Luckily the knife did not nick any internal organs. He will be fine. He’ll scar. He’ll be in a lot of pain for a long time and will need a lot of help and care. But he’s alive. That’s a good thing.” The doctor nods and walks out.

“Are you okay?” Robb asks, his attention back to her. Sansa can only imagine how she looks, red eyed, red nosed. She’s clearly been crying. No way to hide that. 

“Yeah. I’m okay.” She looks around the quiet room, at the window, the door, anywhere but Theon. Anywhere but Robb. “Why don’t you go out for a moment? Take breather?” 

She just needs a moment alone with Theon. Luckily, Robb seems to understand. She watches him leave, and a breath she didn’t know she was holding slips out. 

Sitting down, she takes Theon’s hand. 

“Theon.” His hand seems so fragile, more so than when he was in prison, barely soft paper over bones, thin, so so thin. “I’m sorry, Theon. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.” She whispers to his hand. “I’m so sorry, Theon.” 

“Hey.” 

When she looks up, it’s to the welcome sight of Jon in the doorway, look disheveled and worried. 

“I came as soon as I heard.”


	27. New old friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had forgotten, to be honest, that Jon and Theon had been friends of sorts. They weren’t close the way Robb and Theon were or the way Robb and Jon were. But they had a sort of friendly rivalry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! It's been awhile. My apologies! I said I'd write more and then...well. It's been awhile. Thanks for continuing to read! Thanks for sticking around.
> 
> I do want to 100% stress that everything I know about law/lawyers/barristers/magistrates/etc is based off of cheesy TV which probably lies to me. And so, everything in this is probably incorrect and made up. I am 100% turning everything to work in favor of my plot. And so, if you know more than me, I am SORRY. I am so so sorry for the bastardization of law. And I hope you can forgive me. 
> 
> I also want to give a heads up that I've added the tag for mentioned violence. Previous violence is mentioned. Nothing graphic but to be safe and not cause any issues for anyone, I am mentioning it here.

She had forgotten, to be honest, that Jon and Theon had been friends of sorts. They weren’t close the way Robb and Theon were or the way Robb and Jon were. But they had a sort of friendly rivalry. They grew up together. Had, perhaps at one time, tolerated each other enough to hike together. She is reminded of this as Jon stands in the doorway, panting like he ran there, his attention volleying between her face and Theon’s sleeping form. 

“Is he…” Jon’s voice fades into nothingness as he struggles to find words.

“He’ll live.” Sansa says taking pity on him. “He’ll live and get healthier. But…” she looks back down where her hand is clenched in Theon’s “did they tell you about…” she can’t finish.

“Yes.” and he strides across the room, sinking to his knees as soon as he reaches her, grasping her free hand. “This isn’t your fault. You know that right?”

She nods and tries not to let the hysterical laugh in her throat bubble out. Jon sounds like Asha, which is not something she ever thought she’d say. She looks down at her hand, engulfed in his, held warm and tenderly. He’s just so kind. She squeezes his hand twice. Thank you, she wants to say. Thank you for coming even though you’re mad at me. Thank you for worrying about me. Thank you for possibly forgiving me. 

By the time Robb has returned, Jon is sitting next to her, pressing his shoulder against hers in solidarity. She’s still not sure of where they stand, but is so grateful that he came that she allows herself to lean on him a little, for as long as he’ll let her. She can feel every place his body touches her. It thrills her and comforts her. 

“Jon.” Robb says, his voice steeped in gratitude. “You came.” He stands in the doorway, two cups of coffee in his hands. Jon rises to greet him and they shuffle a little trying to hug around the coffee. Eventually Robb hands Sansa the coffee and crushes Jon into a hug. Sansa can’t hear what Jon is saying to Robb but she can imagine it’s as encouraging as his words to her. 

“Hello Jon Snow.” Asha says dryly from the doorway. “Thank you for coming.” Jon pulls away from Robb and goes to shake Asha’s hand. 

“Asha, hello. How are you? Sansa’s been catching me up on Theon.” 

Asha shrugs. 

“As good as one can be in this situation.” and then softly, hesitantly “He’ll be pleased to see you.”

Jon just nods. It could be true. It could be a lie. Old Theon would proably resent Jon and his success and rich aunt. But this Theon. Well, anything could go. Sansa doesn’t presume to know anyone’s mind. She’s been gone too long. But she feels, she senses, that this Theon is her Theon. Her Theon of the dark apartment and the surviving. This isn’t Jon and Robb’s Theon of confident swagger and bravado. 

Robb drags another chair in from the hallway and Asha perches on the opposite side of the bed facing Sansa. When Jon takes his place again next to her, Sansa can’t help but shift towards him like a petals seeking the sun, her own dark grumpy sun. She doesn’t let go of Theon; she may never let go of Theon again she thinks to herself. But she can feel herself list towards Jon. And she flushes when she finds Asha watching her. 

There’s a knowing in Asha’s gaze. Like she can see into Sansa’s heart and desires. And she can see that Jon is important to her. A soft of sad soft smile comes and goes from Asha’s face before she looks back down at Theon. She doesn’t look up again. 

“Do you,” Sansa nervously asks after a few moments “ Do you know what’s going to happen when he’s discharged from the hospital?” 

“It’s not for awhile yet,” Robb starts to protest.

“I don’t know.” Asha admits. “It’s something I’ll have to think about because they won’t let him stay forever.”

“Oh, I” Jon flushes and looks over at Sansa, then Robb, and then back to Asha. . “I actually called in a favor from a friend of mine. I hope that’s okay? He’s a barrister. And when I told him what was going on, he said that he could probably get Theon on house arrest instead. I hope that I didn’t overstep.”

“Oh” Asha’s voice is soft and surprised. “That’s..that’s very kind of you. “ and then stronger. “We appreciate it.”

Sansa can’t help the huge smile she beams up at Jon who scratches the back of his neck, face still red, but blinding smile directed back at Sansa. 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

When Sansa was much younger before Ramsey, before that stay with her aunt and uncle, she dated a boy name Joffrey. He was rich. He had beautiful soft blond hair and green eyes. He was what she imagined handsome princes in fairy tales to look like. But he wasn’t a fairy tale. He was a nightmare. He was evil and cruel. He belonged to an evil and cruel family. And while they weren’t as vicious as Ramsey, they manipulated and isolated her until she started pulling away from her family, a break that was only exacerbated by her uncle and aunt, and then much later, by Ramsey. 

Joffrey came from a family of magistrates and barristers. When she was dazzled by him, Sansa had thought what smart genes Joffrey had. His mother was so glamorous. His father, though he didn’t look related, seemed so brave and strong. He had two sweet siblings and his uncle, the Lieutenant, looked like a movie star. But she later learned that his family was calculating not intelligent, and insidious not glamorous. It was a bitter pill to swallow and by then she didn’t know who to turn to.

It was Joffrey’s other uncle, the unfashionable one, that offered a little bit of encouragement. He was the black sheep of the family. He was funny and imaginative but wasn’t considered handsome. He certainly didn’t fit the same mold as the rest of the family. He was loud and political. But, she’d liked to listen to him when she stayed for family dinners, pretending of course not to be impressed. And he was surprisingly gentle with her end of the relationship when Joffrey was starting to become physical. When she was dumped by Joffrey for her frenemy Margaery, it was his uncle who whispered to her that she was better off. Of course he reeked of sour wine and had stains on his shirt from dinner so she didn’t internalize it as well as she should have, being as shallow as she was back then, but at least he tried. 

He recognizes her the minute he walks into the room. She’s alone having sent Asha and Robb out to lunch. It’s his eyes widening and his breath catching, and really she thinks to herself, a lawyer should be better at handling surprises. She stands up from her normal perch next to a drowsy Theon and smiles as best she can while extending her hand. It’s not necessarily bad to see him, but he does bring back uncomfortable memories. Then again, many of her memories are uncomfortable now. 

“Hello, Tyrion,” She says showing no surprise although she is surprised. Jon never told her a name of his friend, just that he had met him through Daenerys. She never thought to ask, assuming it was some young untested lawyer that Daenerys took a chance on. She seemed the sort to take chances on people. “You are looking well.” 

And he does. The last time she saw him, he was drunk and weaving. He could barely stand. And she was frightened and weeping. Neither of them were at their best. Now he looked like a barrister, no stains in sight, walking straight in expensive leather shoes that matched his belt. 

He takes her hand, looking up at her with a queer sort of smile on his face.

“Sansa Stark. As I live and breathe. Last I heard you’d disappeared.” 

Sansa can imagine just how Joffrey’s mother would have phrased that. A few rude slurs, a good riddance or two, and then a bottle of wine to celebrate. 

“I’m back now.” She doesn’t elaborate, and he doesn’t ask. But they sit down next to each in surprisingly companionable silence. She takes Theon’s hand again. It’s become their thing, hers and Theon’s. She holds his hands whenever she can, and he reaches for her first. It reminds her of this weird bubble of time they had when Ramsey forgot about Theon before he broke all of Theon’s fingers over and over again. They had a month together, just her and Theon. Ramsey was out of the apartment more than he was in. They’d been afraid to leave but so grateful to be alone. 

One night Theon shared his mother had taught him how to play the piano when he was very little. He was high and nostalgic and she was drunk and lonely. He tried to show her how to play the piano on the floor. He had long slender fingers then. Bent over the floor, concentrating on his fingers, giggling mischievously, she’d thought he was almost beautiful. But then, Ramsey broke all his fingers and locked her in their room. Piano lessons stopped. Tyrion looks at their joined hands and then back at her. There’s a softness in his gaze, maybe a little pity, certainly sadness. Asha looks at them like that. 

“You look.” he says finally into the silence. “Older. Wiser. More beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She’s wearing a button up shirt she stole from Robb and a pair of ripped jeans. She can’t remember if she washed her hair. It hasn’t been a priority. He’s lying but it’s kind of him to try, she thinks. “How are you?”

“I am..sober.” He laughs. “This may be the first time you’ve seen me sober. Probably the first time I’ve ever seen you sober. Should have done it sooner. You are radiant.” He smiles. She doesn’t respond. “I’ve been sober for two years now. Ever since my brother’s accident.” 

She must look confused because he continues. 

“Wherever you were, you didn’t get the news?”

“I didn’t have the internet.” She says stiffly. He grins at her apologetically. She relaxes a bit. 

“Jamie. You remember Jamie my brother? He lost his hand. Some freak accident training soldiers. He was honorably discharged. ” He laughs sardonically. “He lost a hand and I got blackout drunk and almost lost my life driving to the hospital to see him. Near death changes a man.” He laughs again, a dry angry cough. “And so does losing a hand.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why? It’s not your fault. We’re a family of drunks and cripples. You were lucky to get out with your head intact.” He inhales sharply as if realizing what he just said. Catches her eye. “I…”

Theon whimpers in his sleep. Sansa looks down to see she’s squeezing his hand too hard. She lets out a breath. Slow and steady. She can feel Tyrion’s eyes fixed on her. She doesn’t look up. 

“Tyrion. You’re here.” Asha sounds surprised and maybe pleased. “I wasn’t expecting you until later.” 

“Well” he gets up and moves away from Sansa and the uncomfortable silence that surrounds her. She wishes she could get away from it too. “I’ve made some progress and thought i should immediately let you know. I negotiated, called in a few favors, and got Theon on house arrest. He’ll probably need someone there with him but he doesn’t have to go back to the prison.”

“That’s great, right?” 

Sansa hadn’t notice Robb until he spoke. He was standing in the doorway with a sandwich and tea presumably for her. 

“It is,” Asha starts “if I had a room for him. He’ll need a lot of care, someone to help him out. I don’t know that I can…”

“I can do it.” Sansa interrupted. Everyone turns towards her. She quickly looks at her hands, soft and smooth wrapped around the knots and bumps of Theon’s fingers. She can't bear the hope in Asha’s eyes, the confusion in Robb’s, the pity in Tyrion’s. “We have plenty of space at home. It’s not like he’s never lived there before.” She laughs. “And it’s not like I have a job right now. Plus.” She looks up and straight at Robb. “I don’t think my parents would say no to me right now. Should probably use that for good, don't you think?”

She takes a deep breath and looks at Tyrion.

“More importantly, if you are representing Tyrion, you should probably have access to me as well. I don’t know if they told you, but I’m his alibi. And I think we have a lot to talk about.”


End file.
